Dear Supporters of Bacon,

I learned my lesson from last month. Catnip in moderation. Treats in, well, abundance? So, as I stop in to visit Bacon for my “official visit” with my iPhone in hand, I make a solemn promise to stay away from the catnip; in fact, not even mention it and find the treats, pronto!

For me, Bacon is a cat of mystery. I never know how he’s going to be feeling, how much energy he’ll have, or what he wants to do when I arrive. Sometimes, he just wants to sleep. On other visits, he bounds out of his house, raring to go. Sometimes he’s curled up on a blanket in his house with a “Do Not Disturb” sign posted near him. Other times he’s stretched out on the oversized cat bed outside his house as if he’s lounging on a Jersey beach.

This morning he’s in his house, sitting upright as if he’s waiting for me. But not as eager as I would like. (I always dream that one day he’ll run out of his house and into my lap, but that day will have to wait . . .) I’m holding the special urinary treat bag and I give it a quick shake.

How is it that cats are so keyed into sound? He knows that sound. His casual glance becomes a laser beam directed at my hand, at the bag. He comes right over.

“Well?”

Gosh, he’s the cutest thing. Immediately I reach in and drop a few tasty treats on the floor.

He tilts his head.

 I hold out a treat and he gobbles it from my two fingers. Then he sniffs and starts to eat the treats.

 How tough can it be? But it is. Do you think it’s easy to eat treats off a slippery floor? As Bacon attempts to suck one into his mouth, it slides forward. He moves closer and tries again. Luckily, this handsome boy has learned some hockey moves so he’s finally able to paw it closer and eat it. I call that scoring a goal. Eating the treats went on for a while, but then he got tired. I think he’s going to take a quick nap on his oversized cat bed, but that’s where I’m sitting.

Instead, quite out of the blue, he asks, “What were you doing this morning?”

“Well, nosy boy, I had breakfast and came here.”

He narrows his soulful eyes (I can tell he’s suspicious) and starts sniffing the bottom of my shoes. You know what they say about cats and sniffing. They can read the whole story of where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing in a single sniff.

 “Are you satisfied?”

The encounter gets better. After a few strolls around the suite and a quick lap of water, Bacon comes over and sits down next to me. This is a real “treat” for me. I reach out and pet him. Yes, I know it’s a dangerous move. A large sign on his house warns caution.

Then I spot a brush and get a bright idea. I’m going to brush him. Well, the first attempt does not go well. He rears back. Then comes forward and sniffs the brush.

 “If you don’t want me to…”

 “Oh, what the heck,” he says.

And that’s what I do. I brush him and brush him and brush him. Soon we have a pile of Bacon’s fur in the middle of the floor, and he is looking good.

 “I think you liked that,” I say.

  This contrary cat doesn’t say a meow, but in a semi-contented way, he winds his way back to his house. I say goodbye, but later as I walk by his suite, I peek in, and there he is—all cuddled on his favorite oversized bed.

In medical news, the official report is that Bacon had one episode of a loose stool, but it resolved itself. So, he’s doing good.

Bacon and I want to thank you for being there for him and all the cats at Tabby’s Place. Your generosity is so appreciated. We hope you enjoy the lovely month of May.

Your correspondent,
Kate