Final Post of 2017

Double Merrythought

Well, these here wishbones are about all that's left of the holidays.  Okay, these and a couple of containers of turkey stock and a lump of breast meat in the freezer for dad's next batch of soup.  And about a thousand pounds of mixed nuts mom found marked way, way down the day after Christmas.  Okay, and the lights are still up.  Anyway, my point is that Christmas is done. 
     I don't believe in silly human holiday traditions, but apparently mom and dad do.
     The Christmas good luck charm is joined by the Thanksgiving one, and I'm assuming they'll meet their demise tonight, New Year's Eve.
     I'm not sure what mom and dad will wish for, but I know what I'd wish for if I was a believer and had the right digits to grab and pull.
     All this nonsense aside, here's looking forward to a truly wonderful 2018.  And another year filled with more of this...

Nope, nobody spoiled here...

     

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Holidays, Happy Everything

     Ever the high tech genius- not, dad toyed with one of my photos for this year's Christmas post.
     With all the technology available at one's fingertips nowadays I figured he'd have been able to come up with something a little more ingenious than painting a freakin' Santa hat on me.

     Yay go dad.  I should point out the subtle nod to the old guy who came before me (note dad's special Orbit coffee mug on the counter right over my head.  Yup, he still uses it).
     Anyway, here's wishing a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all y'all!
     Oh, and by the way, dad, for all you have to say about my girth, width, heft, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah, I'd like to point out to our readers the half-deflated tire around your middle, the loose bit of extra whatever hanging from your neck, and the ever increasing flecks of gray in your chin stubble.  Burn!

     
      

Living the Good Life

Yeah, I've got it made here.  Life is good, my belly's happy (most days), I'm always warm, I'm surrounded by two good people (most days), good books and a nice, soft place to nap.

     I can't really complain (though I do, and often, some days) about anything.  Like I said, life is good. 

Christmas is coming.  Be good.  See ya. 

Help!

I'm not calling "child abuse" quite yet, especially after getting painted in a fun spirited, positive light the way dad's last post did.  However, I want word to get out about a situation we've had here.

     My wardens, aka mom and dad, have taken to forcing me to work for my meals, and I won't stand for it any more.  I hate to expose you for the monsters you are, mom and dad, but people need to see what you put me through just to get my food.  

     Yeah, yeah, I know you've been working hard to get me to shed some pounds, but come on, do you have to be so mean about it?

     No more, I say. As you can see, I'm being forced to exercise before they'll put my food down.  That's right, they make me run around the living room prior to setting my food down instead of being the loving, appreciative parents they should be and just giving me what's due.

     This is bordering on torture, and I demand it stops!

Dad note:  Cleo caught on to us a short while ago and this abusive practice has ceased.  After a while instead of continuing to chase us around the room she'd simply run right to where we put her dishes and sit there and watch us try and try, most likely laughing inside as we whistle and taunt her.  For the record, we only ran around with her chasing us 5 or 6 times before setting her dish down.  Honestly. 

Loony Bird

For a mature old gal, Cleo has been showing a wonderfully silly, playful side lately.  Maybe she's just getting comfortable with us, letting her inner kitten come out more and more.  We've had so many moments when I wish I'd had my camera handy right then and there, or could capture video of her behavior.
     She loves her pieces of string, and now and then we'll hear the jingle of her little fuzzy balls being batted around.  For the most part, though, her strings, balls and catnip mice just lay on her mat unless we initiate play.  Now and then she surprises us with erratic, wild antics that make us laugh like crazy humans.

     Just last night while mom was putting together Christmas gifts and had several pieces of wrapping tissue laid out on the floor Cleo jumped at the tissue, rubbing her face in it, crumpling and gathering it in her paws and almost-but-not-quite eating it.
     Then, as she often does, just stops and walks away.  It's as if she gets a burst of playfulness, then realizes she's mature and sophisticated and making a fool of herself.
     It's the same with these fuzzy little balls with bells inside them.  Lately she's taken to chasing them briefly when we toss them against a wall and they bounce off and away. 
     She scrambles toward the ball, sometimes swatting at it, sometimes batting it away.  She's got a soccer player's talent for scuttling along the floor, patting the ball back and forth between her paws as she goes.  And then she's done.  She'll just sit there, staring at the ball, often looking at us with that "What?" in her big beautiful eyes.

     Many times when she stops, the ball is beneath her, umm, ample girth, an egg being kept warm by this plus-sized Tortie birdmom.  Speaking of ample, Cleo's due for a physical this morning.  We weighed her last night, and she's dropped to 11.6 pounds, down from her 15 or so since she adopted us last February!
     Her occasional erratic outbursts are such a joy to watch, especially when she runs from room to room, by turns looking around as if something's chasing her and searching for something only she can see.  And then there's her spanking fetish briefly mentioned in an early post.  More on that later.

Happy Every Day to Me

This is how Thanksgiving was here.  The food- sure, it was good (well for mom and dad, anyway).  The parade- eh, not my thing.  It's a Wonderful Life- didn't quite catch what was going on, and didn't much care anyway.

 Mom, a Mimosa and Me

     The mimosas- whatever.  Mom's fantastic peanut butter cookies- gone.  The 8 pound turkey breast they roasted was reduced to a couple of leftover meals and a pot of stock.  I was hoping to get a crack at that carcass at some point, but woe is me, it was not to be (damn these 13 year old kidneys).  Homemade turkey vegetable soup's on the menu one of these nights, I hear.  All that mattered to me was that I got to relax.  Pretty much like every other day.  I guess every day is a holiday for me.  I suppose I'm thankful for that.

Me, Me and Me

Yup, This is How Thanksgiving's Gonna Be Around Here This Year

      The turkey's all slathered in olive oil, salted & peppered and in the oven (the crispy skin is dad's favorite part of the bird.  Many many moons ago he worked in an old country inn, where he'd deep fry chicken skins, smother them with salt and not share them with co-workers), potatoes are boiling, stuffing's seasoned just right, and the cranberry sauce is chilling.
     There's rich, moist, cream cheese icing-robed carrot cake, bourbon chocolate pecan pie, snickerdoodles, gingersnaps, still-warm pumpkin pie, piled high with towering swirls of fresh whipped, heavenly sweetened cream. 
     The rolls are just about ready for butter-brushing,  and dad's drooling, near-erotic images of an overflowing gravy boat tilting and twirling through his slumbering brain.

     Damn, mom sure has her work cut out for her.  She's toughed it out for years, reforming this aging foodaholic we know and love, trying to change his ways to keep him around as long as she can. 

     Dad grew up in a large family, the above-mentioned a regular part of all the family gatherings.  Seems everything always revolved around food.  Deep down mom knows she's got an uphill battle, even though dad insists he's over his previous eating habits, habits formed over too many years.

     She's worked so hard to get him to change his ways, and though he's much better with her in control she still worries.
     Today we're going to be having non-GMO roasted turkey breast, fresh green beans, juicy corn on the cob, champagne mimosas throughout the day and- the best part- mom's mouthwatering homemade peanut butter cookies topped with Hershey's kisses.  In moderation, of course (riiight, that explains the two bottles of champagne and half gallon of orange juice in the fridge, right dad?).  
     Mom made the cookies yesterday, filling the apartment with the delightful aroma of her homemade, fresh-ground peanut butter (no salt, no sugar, of course).  She gave dad the unused kisses to bring to work to share, with strict instructions not to eat any (he ate only one, really). 
     As with almost every Thanksgiving since mom and dad met we'll be watching It's a Wonderful Life, catching some of the parade, and just chilling. There's enough stress out there. Mom and dad try to keep things simple. It's one thing we can control.   

     So to everyone, in spite of all the crazy shit in the news these days, in spite of the divisive, sickening, appalling headlines almost daily now, try to have a most awesome and happy Thanksgiving Day.
     

What Book?

     So once again, as with some previous pictures in an earlier post of Miss Cleo plopped atop sheets of paper amidst a vast expanse of carpeted apartment, here she just has to deposit herself on mom's book. 

Umm, hello, pay attention to me, not the book!

You didn't want to read anyway mom, right?

     Yup, queen-sized bed, a bazillion square feet of luxurious quilted bed covers, and she just has to insert herself in mom's field of vision as mom tries to wind down her night with her favorite nighttime entertainment (well, one of them, anyway.  Sorry you have to share the spotlight, dad).  Obviously, mom's okay with this.  If nothing else Cleo's helping out by marking mom's page since it's not unusual for mom to wake during the night or first thing in the morning, upset with herself for losing her place.

Pssst, dad- What's with all the "mom"'s?  This is my blog, you big dingleberry. I get two mentions in this post and mom gets six?  Damn, there's another one!  
     
     

And Some More Not About Me, So I Don't Care

  So being the outdoorsy type mom and dad like to take pictures wherever they go.  Though they miss the real mountains out in western North Carolina they don't seem to have a problem finding places around here to "hike".  I put that term in quotes because I really think sometimes it makes them feel good about getting out and walking around and calling it hiking.  

Whatever you call it, I'm happy as long as they don't try to get me out there with them.  I have heard them more than once saying words like "leash", "harness" and "exercise" with my name in between, and I certainly hope that doesn't mean they plan on trying to get me outside.  I'm purrfectly happy to stay indoors full time.  I get my dose of outdoors when I sit in the window, and that's good enough for me.  Dad doesn't remember where, exactly these photos were taken (pretty sure out Asheville way, you dumbfutz) or how long ago, and he's too damn lazy to go back and see which folder mom had them in.  she's the organized one around here. 

He just goes through the pictures and tosses the words out on the screen and hopes for the best.  Oops- I mean he helps me write these things.

Butt Comb

As with all other areas I'm settling into a routine here with mom and dad.  Every month mom takes care of my preventive flea treatment and, more to my enjoyment, combing.

Not Sure What the Bag Thing Is

     Apparently I leave bits and strands of myself around the apartment, though it's not always evident until mom checks the vacuum filter.  Much like Orbit before me, we're both short-haired, but as I'm sure y'all know we shed no matter.
     Anyway, I love it when mom drags that comb through my fur (except for her Jabba the Hut undercarriage and privates).  Stuff it, dad.  You've still got yourself a bit of a muffin top thing going on there, you know.

Gotta Say, the Old Girl Loves Those Bags

     So again, anyway, the comb feels so good, and I especially like mom doing my back nice and soft and slow.  Makes my behind rise tall as a mountain (dad's over in the corner smirking, a dumb-assed joke brewing. I can see it on his face).
    

And Again With the Bag

So that's it.  I like being combed.  I'm done with this one.  Dad ruined it.  Gotta go beg for breakfast.  Bye.

 

Food Equals Love

The other night mom and dad were lounging in bed, reading.  Mom hadn't been feeling well, so dad made her a piece of toast to try to help settle her stomach.
     Now, as it is, mom compares dad's and Cleo's nutritional "needs", and that's a term that mom uses quite loosely.  You see, both Cleo and dad have similar eating issues.  It's like that's what they live for.
     Anyway, Cleo thinks she's pretty sly.  This happens often while mom and dad are sitting in the living room eating dinner.  It always appears Cleo is feeling affectionate and wants to be near mom and dad, but they know that it's not out of wanting to be near them.  It's their food she's trying to get closer to.

One Last Piece.  Mmmmmm...

     Mom was nibbling her toast and had the plate sitting on top of a book on the bed.  Cleo, of course, jumped up and stealthily (she always think mom and dad don't notice) shuffled closer and closer to the toast.  
     As much as they'd like to share they know they need to be mindful of Cleo's intake. Mom ate all but the last little piece of toast, and Cleo curled right up next to the plate to keep her eye on it.  You know, just in case mom didn't feel like finishing it.   

Happy Birthday, Old Man. Now Back to Work!

Well someone just turned 56.  And he calls me old?  Even mom, a buoyant 12-ish years younger than dad, pokes fun at him.  Often.  Of course she's got her things that he can poke fun at, too.  Dad says we'll just leave it at that.
     Dad had last week off from work, a much needed vacation that allowed me tons of unexpected lap time with both mom and dad.  This time around they decided to keep it close, inexpensive and stress-free.

Ahh, what a week it was!

They slept in (yes, it was difficult, but dad actually managed to sleep past 5:00 a few times!), went for walks and took in a fall festival in downtown Chapel Hill.  They enjoyed a tasty lunch and sipped a couple or three or four- who's counting- craft brews at Top of the Hill Restaurant, Brewery & Distillery (don't worry, they walked), visited an art museum and strolled around the UNC campus, took in a movie and did their usual errands. 

Getting Better About Being Quiet on the Bed

     All in all it was a nice relaxing week and a wonderful week-long birthday celebration for dad.  I think I got spoiled having dad home so much, and I think it gave us a nice chance to bond a little.  I have to split my time between their laps so they don't get jealous, but I think I'll always favor mom's (no offense, pops).  Dad's almost always in shorts, and mom is most often wearing pants and, even on warmer days (and to dad's continued bewilderment) usually has the fleece on her lap.  Do I have her trained or what?
    
     So anyway, Happy Birthday fellow old fart.  I'll miss your lap, but I suppose it makes me look forward to your coming home at the end of the day.  I guess.  Whatever.    

Not Very Smart, Big Guy- A Public Service Message

So at first we thought it was hilarious the way Cleo pounced, pawed at and rubbed her face with these fabric softener dryer
sheets we keep on the floor of our bedroom closet (which ordinarily stays closed).  

After witnessing Cleo acting as though these things were treated with catnip I decided to research what was actually in them.  Now I feel horrible for not looking into this sooner, though she was only able to get to them when we opened the door, and only if she was interested (something she can turn on and off like a light switch).

     Had I done my homework and realized the potential harm these sheets can cause we never would've let Cleo play with them. 
     After reading about the dangers of pets playing with these, and in some cases actually eating them, we no longer leave them on the floor.

A Fat Cat and Her Favorite Mat

  I'm not fat.  I'm not big boned.  Your insults are tiresome.  I'm... bountiful.  What, suddenly you're Dr. Seuss? Two can play at this game, mister.  

The Big Brat is an Ass Hat.  Cleo out.

Relationships Are a Work in Progress

The other night I'd reached a limit with dad's affectionate pats, and let him know it.  Now, this is something mom's been trying to work on with me (of course, unbeknownst to her it'll never work) for a while, but what she doesn't realize is that I don't know any better.
     She can yell and scold me all she wants, but what I hear is this, "                                 !".  I'm not like a human kid, although I know that's what some human kids hear when their parents yell at them.  In my mind, dad got too rough, I rightfully let him know I was unhappy (don't worry, it only took a trickle of hydrogen peroxide and one bandage), end of story.  
     They disagreed, I silently stuck to my limit with dad, mom scolded, then we all got ready for bed. 
     Anyway, here's how my relationship with dad really works (when I say so). 

I love them both and they love me, and we're all three still figuring out how to get along.  Of course it's not like it's difficult or anything.

Not being one to let an opportunity pass I'll end this post as such:  dad, for all the times you "comment" on my swinging, sagging pouch, I'm seeing in that first photo some pretty saggy, graying facial features...     

Easy Sunday Selfie

So here's my Sunday Selfie submission for this past week.  Today's Wednesday, Dad.

     Come on, Cleo, give me a break!  I've been real busy at work, and putting in lots of overtime.

     Or you're just a procrastinator.

     I've had a lot on my mind.  You know, work, vacation time, etc.

     Or you procrastinate.

     I've been stressed, working short-handed, staffing changes and all that.

     Or you put things off til last minute.

     My mind's been elsewhere.  You know, right?

     Or you're just a procrastinator.

     You gonna do this by yourself?  Hmm?  Didn't think so.

     Anyway, this is me up close and personal by solar light.  Being the frugal minimalists mom and dad think they are and trying to go easy on the electric bill dad sits and reads (and sometimes blogs...) in the early morning hours by solar light, hence the odd glow.

     Oh, gotta cut this one short.  A certain someone just jumped up and and wants to take the place of the laptop.

     Yeah, so see you next week year month time we get on here...
    

 

Life Imitating Art

     Dad found it amusing that I chose this spot and this position one day recently for a respite from my hectic daily schedule (really, Cleo?)
     Some of you may remember this cat sarcophagus from Orbit posts from oh so long ago.  It's one of a few pieces from dad's eclectic collection of oddities (translated: a bunch of shit for which he had multiple excuses not to get rid of) that he would not part with way back when mom helped liberate dad from his inherited hording tendencies (so I liked to collect stuff).
      Maybe I was just tired.  Maybe I was silently communing with Orbit and dear little Grayson, whose ashes rest within this hand-carved ten ton feline showpiece.  
    
     

News, Excuses and Boxes

       So with everything that's going on in the news these days it's gotten harder to keep the time set aside for things like posting here.  I've been instructed to write this so someone has an excuse for not posting anything for a bit.  Dad's usual reading & writing time has been reduced to a fraction of what it used to be because it's so easy to get caught up in the headlines.
     Sure, he still finishes novels he and mom get from the library, but now a good chunk of his morning reading time is spent on the headlines, and before he knows it his morning's shot and it's time to get ready for work.
     He pours his coffee, grabs the laptop and his phone, and immediately gets sucked into the news and self-set notifications on his damn phone.
     My lap time with dad, when I choose to bless him with my presence, has taken a back seat, mostly because there just isn't enough room for the laptop and my... bulk (had to put that in there, huh dad?)
     Will things ever calm down?  Will all the horrible, unbelievable, questionable ridiculous things we're seeing and hearing every day now ever subside? It's easy to get worked up about all the bullsh*t right now, so I'll leave it at that. 

     Anyway, as much as I'm a mature lady I still have a fun, curious, playful side.  Like many of my ilk I like boxes. 

I love it when dad brings home boxes.  Often, mom needs boxes for packing gifts for the grandkids, putting away seasonal clothes and whatnot, and the minute dad sets the boxes down I can't resist hopping in (yes, I can actually hop.  You should see me jump from chair to chair!).

     
          Boxes fascinate me.  I sniff every corner, every flap, rub my face on them, and jump right in, where I sit for, oh, about a minute.
     And then I'm no longer interested.

Sort of Shared Sunday Selfie While Procrastinating Mr. Lazybutt Works on This Week's Real Post

Me on mom's lap with the cat-sophagus in the background.

Lap Time!

     I'm not sure what it is, but since mom and dad returned from camping it seems I've been wanting to spend a lot more time on their laps.
     Mom's lap has been a somewhat regular favorite place for the most part, and dad's has been growing on me (depending on what he's wearing).  As I mentioned previously shorts and bare legs haven't been my thing, but yesterday I was in heaven.
     The high temperature was "only" around 80, and mom actually brought out the fleece blanket that's usually reserved for the cooler weather.

     Being from up north mom and dad, since living down here, have always shaken their heads at the southerners surrounding us with their air conditioners seemingly running nonstop from March to November.
     Yesterday was a departure from the 90's we've been having lately, and they had all the windows open, fresh breezes flowing through the whole apartment all day.
     Ordinarily it's not unusual, even with warmer temperatures, for mom to throw on her sweatshirt while dad is sitting next to her sweating his butt off, but yesterday even he got a little chilled.  

     
      They loved the fresh air and didn't want to shut the windows, so mom shared the fleece with dad, and once I saw that I couldn't get enough lap time.
     I can't wait until the real cool weather comes.  I know where I'll be spending most of my time!

     
     
     
     

Back to Normal

Well, they're back.  Yeah, obviously it's taking dad some time to get back on here with me. My quiet time is gone.
     Remember "All By Myself",that awesome Eric Carmen pop hit from 1975?  You remember it, right?  Right?  Are we aging ourselves here?  Mom likes teasing dad with that song in her beautiful special off-key way whenever she thinks he's not paying attention to her.  
     Dad says he used to have the 45.  I'll bet some of you don't even know what that is.  Anyway, I'm getting off track here.  Mom and dad returned from their camping vacation at Carolina Beach State Park refreshed but tired, relaxed but antsy and wishing they were still out there.

Campground Sunset

     I think they got the beach bug in them.  All I've heard since they returned is how they hadn't realized how much they loved being so close to the beach before dad grew restless with his job a couple of times over these past few years, which took them from Wilmington to Greenville, SC to Chapel Hill. 
     The day they rolled into Wilmington they were surrounded by thunderstorms and heavy downpours, but they didn't care.  They were on vacation.  They pulled into a parking garage and wandered around downtown and the riverfront, getting thoroughly soaked.  
     Hungry and wishing to avoid the rain when they realized their umbrella (mom did suggest using two of them dad, you dumb-ass) (mom's sentiment) wasn't quite cutting it against the pelting rain they found their way to The Copper Penny, one of their favorite places.  They sat out the rain with a delicious lunch and a couple of frosty glasses of beer, and reminisced about the time they spent living here a few years back.

Wilmington Riverfront on Day One

     The rain eventually let up, and after walking off some of the beer lunch and popping in for a couple of Kilwins ice cream cones made their way to the state park, where they set up camp and planted themselves for the next 4 days.

Keeping it (somewhat) Healthy at Breakfast

     The Wilmington area forecast up until they actually left Chapel Hill had been calling for rain and storms pretty much every day, but they ended up with the most perfect beach weather all week, and spent every day at Fort Fisher Beach.

Mom Hamming it Up at the Brewery

     Good Hops Brewery, within walking distance from the campground had just opened up before mom and dad moved away from Wilmington and they never got the chance to check it out back then.  One day after lounging at the beach they walked over for a couple of brews, and, well, just check out the picture.
     It's a cool little place far enough away from the hustle and bustle of Carolina Beach and, being mid-week wasn't too busy.  As you can see the bar held a mixed crowd of "folks", all very friendly and laid back.

Umm, No, You're Not Seeing Things

     
     Other than spending all week at the beach mom and dad relaxed at camp, enjoying cooking over the fire every night, dad not bitching about happily getting used to having to start a fire each morning and waiting for the coffee percolator to finish bubbling his lifeblood to his desired strength.

The Old Man Tending the Fire

     The camping was peaceful and quiet, with the exception of the obnoxious mansion on wheels with the garage-sized gas generator rumbling sunrise to sunset.  You'd think the tent sites would be separate from the ones where people feel the need to bring their entire home with them.  
     Okay dad, you got that bitching out of the way.  Happy? 

What it's All About

     Anyway, they're back.  Dad was in heaven barefoot, shorted and shirtless nearly all week. 
     Dad's co-worker took awesome care of me while they were away, stopping in each morning to top off my dishes and scoop my poop. 
     Dad's back at work ("grrr....," he says), mom's got everything washed, packed away and cleaned up 'til next time (I'm thinking "next time" is gonna come sooner than later since they had such a ball and miss the beach so much), and everything's back to normal.  Plus this post is getting way too long and I don't want to lose any of you.
     
      

Some Time to Myself and Big Steps in Getting Comfortable

It's confirmed.  Mom and dad are going away and leaving me all alone.  They had dad's co-worker stop by the other day to meet me and discuss my nutritional needs and what to do with my, umm, peeballs and pooplogs.
     Yeah, I've got to hand it to this guy, being willing to scoop my stuff and dispose of it out of the goodness of his heart.  He told mom and dad he's always loved cats, and if his wife wasn't allergic they'd have one of their own.
     So anyway, they're heading back east to camp for the week at Carolina Beach State Park.  You should see our place- mom's got stacks and piles of clothes, bedding, food and equipment all over.  Ever the organizer, she's been spending weeks planning everything, and they'll be loading the car tonight or tomorrow morning and heading out.
     I'd say I'll throw a party while they're away, but they're not too keen on anyone being here when they're not.  They'll be back before next weekend, and I'm sure I'll enjoy the peace and quiet.
  
     They've been struggling to get me to sit on their laps in their big special chair, especially when they're wearing shorts of any kind.  I only recently started to sit on mom's lap, and I try to keep the bulk (shut up, dad) of my body on the fabric of her shorts.  As for dad, well, I usually don't sit on his shorted lap, especially when he wears his sexy blue shiny slippery lounge shorts (yeah, he made me type that).
     Well, I don't know if it's because I'll miss them or what, but here's what transpired just the other night.  They were watching a movie, and I got up on the arm of the chair between them, and then stepped down onto his sexy blue shiny slippery lounge shorts (okay dad, just stop).  I settled myself right down across his lap and just enjoyed sprawling out in surprising comfort for the duration of the movie, even dozing a little.

How 'bout them hairy old man legs!

 This shot kinda gives you a good idea of my incredibly lovable size (nice try, dad), and an up-close eyeful of them damn sexy blue shiny slippery lounge shorts (once again, not me).
     What you don't see is his cleverly cropped out rubbery, sagging, deflated spare-tire-around-the-middle he hasn't been able to make disappear since losing a bunch of weight (gotcha, funny guy!)
    

Playtime

     Though an older gal, Cleo now and then lets her playful side show.  We're trying to get her to be a little more active in hopes that she'll slim down to a healthier weight, and she does occasionally surprise us with bursts of energy and lightning quick swats and grabs at some of her toys.
     She's got an assortment of colorful balls, some catnip mice and a few other things, but her favorite plaything is string.  That's it.  String.  Catnip, though at first gets her going, seems to bore her after a minute or so.
     She loves chasing string, and we'll run around the apartment, trailing a 5 foot long piece and laughing as she trots and scuttles after it.  And then she plops down.  Sure, she'll swat and swipe at it if we're standing close enough, and once in a while she'll get up and come after it again, but I think we get more exercise out of it than she does.
     She's also shown this interesting behavior where she talks and chatters at us, much the way she does when she's hungry, and leads us to her toy collection on her favorite mat.
     She sits in front of her toys just looking at them, and when I start to pat her behind and scratch above her tail she begins to play with her things, sometimes going crazy rolling around and chomping heartily on her catnip mice.
     Now, I've seen some of the videos and read a handful of articles about the whole cat spanking thing (there's an eye-opening amount of it out there), and it's certainly an interesting trait. 
     Orbit used to enjoy a hefty patting above his tail.  My old pal Isaac loved a hearty smacking. 

     I'd hoped to have a handful of action shots to add to this post, but the ones I've got so far don't show much of Cleo's playful side.  They do, however, show how our play sessions most often end up.  The dear old girl seems to bore easily.  We'll try some other things as time goes by, but for now we'll make do with her shredded piece of string.

      
     

En Silhouette: A Study in Light and Shadow

So now someone thinks he's an artist?  Don't quit your day job, dad.