Some feline feels

It's been a while since I updated you on our feline family.

The garfield ginger

I'll begin with the "newest" arrival - now two-plus years ago.

Rambo has gone from a vicious-looking scaredy cat to a purring cuddle cat. We are so, as The Husband says, his people. He's never far and rarely ventures beyond our gate, let alone the fence. He prefers it that we're home and is patently unhappy if we're both out. If The Husband is out, he hears the vehicle approach even before it reaches our corner.

When we get home, we're greeted with a volley of something akin to expletives because we had the temerity to go out. Heaven help us when we actually take a holiday! He really is quite the character and displays some quirks that have my friend, J, observing that he really is a Garfield. She's not wrong.

The grey wizard

Gandalf arrived some six years ago. In theory, and as a male, he was supposed to apply male wizardry and protect his feline sisters from the vagaries of the feral cat that was then terrorising them. And us.

Gandalf is a super wuss (the scaredest of scaredy cats). Even when he grew up, he did nothing to deter monster cat who continued his reign of terror. To say that that part of the plan didn't work, would be an understatement. He spent a lot of his kittenhood hiding in The Cats' Mother's skirts.

He, too, is a character and has lost none of his kittenish insistence at morning snuggles and has yet to grow out of hunting. Just for fun. It's a habit I'd rather he lost. Especially when he decides to bring his lunch as an offering to ours.

The Princess

Pearli arrived ten years ago, this coming November. Originally, we named her Tiger Pearl because although she's black, as a kitten and in the sun, you could see tabby tiger-like stripes. It turns out that she's both a bit of a tiger and a black pearl. She's has a sweet personality but is fiercely independent - to the point of worrying The Cats' Mother witless. She'd just wander off. And she'd go with to anyone. It was so bad that we ended up collaring her and including our telephone number so that we could retrieve her if need be. And we did. We often had to go and fetch her from neighbours until we made arrangements that she could visit, but wasn't to have breakfast, lunch or supper. Not even a sundowner. She had to come home.

Nearly ten years on, she's not lost her wanderlust. I've learned not to worry until she's had one night out. When this happens, The Cats' Mother yells like a banshee calls her to come home. Then, the entire neighbourhood knows to send her home. Even the noobs post pics of our cat on their IG as an early morning visitor having a drink from their swimming pool.

In closing

I want to get back into the groove of daily posting, but I'm not feeling it and am a bit low on energy. I'll explain why, next week, but I guess a lot of it's got to do with the now waning moon... That said, and also next week, my world should revert to its usual humdrum routine. I admit to be looking forward to resuming to a sort of regular summer rhythm.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma
Post script

If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:

• re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine....?
• and "re-capturing" nearly two years' worth of posts.

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Original artwork: @artywink

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