Alex, Just the name, Guy La Griffe made me think of a French apache with a wild look in his eye, but also Cyrano twitching his moustache! I think Swift would have been amused at the lit crit of your cats! Clearly they thought you bought the toys for you to play with.
Rainey, I shall look for a book of his poems just to watch those words on the page. I get a real kick out of Keillor too. And any man who can look Keillor in both eyes and say, 'There was a lanyard' is alright by me!
Tho' I'd disagree with the dog, I suspect the cats write music and ARE poetry. But that's just me! ... and I'm biased... ahem.
Melinda, our first cat Possum who adopted us, used to walk with me to school just along our road after which she'd slink back home to snooze. But she'd be waiting at the top of the street when I returned from school in the afternoon. It's not a dog thing necessarily. We were young and I suspect Possum thought we were like her kittens!
O Queekie! All that territory for one cat!! No wonder he went on patrol with you. And however big the turkeys, he naturally had to remind them who was boss. After all cats are supposed to chase birds. There's nothing in the contract that says how big the birds have to be. My eyes leaked a lot when each of our cats went to the great prowling grounds in the sky too. And I still miss them - with the occasional sense memory of the touch of warm fur with the muscle beneath it and the soft mew of Manfred or loud MIAOW of Locksley. _________________ Confusion comes fitted as standard.
Griffin, the twisting mustache got me. Debbie, might I suggest teaching Guy to tweak his whiskers? It would be quite suitable for his name. As for Swift, well, I'm sad to say my cats do not quite like him. 'A Modest Proposal' was shredded to ribbons (quite interesting explaining to my lecturer exactly why I didn't have the text for class) while 'Guilliver's Travels' was sniffed at disdainfully and promptly sat on. I guess my cats must be Whigs after all.
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... and I'm biased... ahem.
My eyes leaked a lot when each of our cats went to the great prowling grounds in the sky too. And I still miss them - with the occasional sense memory of the touch of warm fur with the muscle beneath it and the soft mew of Manfred or loud MIAOW of Locksley.
