Dances with ocelots
What’s cute and tiny and shimmies all over? I’ll give you one more clue: she has more spots than a pimply teenager and all 101 dalmatians combined.
What’s cute and tiny and shimmies all over? I’ll give you one more clue: she has more spots than a pimply teenager and all 101 dalmatians combined.
The time has come to end our sable-cat streak. But I think we’ll all agree with Michael Jackson that when you’re talking ’bout this baby, it don’t matter if he’s black or white. Ah – make that black and white.
Hmm. It would seem we are in the throes of a theme here.Sable, raven, ebony, charcoal, inky, graphite, glorious black cats.
Two, we have established, are better than one. But when are two even better than merely “better than one?” When is “better than one” such a weak, wimpy term that it’s an insult to the awesomeness of two?
Sometimes it doesn’t even take four seconds. Your lock eyes, your heart is gone, and you know that if the sheer force of love can save this cat, she will thrive for an eon. So it was with Sylvia.
At the risk of making this the Maury Show of blogs, today we’re going to dish some dirt. Never let it be said that Felis Catus is afraid to deal with the mucky, ooky, messy stuff of life with cats.
Some pictures tell the proverbial thousand words. Other pictures beg for a blog post. And so it was that I came to beg our very own nik11676 to pen a piece on a photo that was too-cute-to-be-true…except that it’s true. You’re in for a beautifully-written belly bonanza…
The entire year we had with Chance was a gift, a “bonus.” He wasn’t “supposed to” have had a whole new life at the age of…well, we can only guess somewhere between 12 and 800. That last, “bonus” year was the sweetest, and not just for Chance. His passing has left a tremendous, loud-meowing void.
OK, I completely made that up. We have no evidence that Mystic has ever loved, eaten or had access to pizza. No evidence except…well, when Mystic’s ginormous self hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.