Frankie, our old cat, is feeling amorous this morning. He will not leave me alone, he keeps butting me on my arms and making punching keys difficult. I am not really speaking to him, because a few nights ago at storytime (his favorite time of the day, I swear that cat thinks he is a kid. He jumps into bed and listens attentively, and then curls up with a boy and goes to sleep afterwards!) Where was I? Right. A few nights ago, in the middle of "The Enchanted Wood", he SNEEZED and Cat Snat flew everywhere. ICK! So now I'm like "Are you gonna sneeze? You gross cat?"
I will call the Splendid Vet today, and ask his opinion. Maybe Frankie has a cold. Do cats get colds? He seems perfectly fine otherwise.
Frankie is blind in one eye from cataracts, (Will Samba get dogaracts?) and Lulu keeps him young by sneaking up on him on that side and beating him up. Frankie always wins, having age, experience and size on his side. He was a battle machine in his day!
Their favorite game is to get into a box or paper bag or other receptacle, and look superior: "This is MY box. Mmmm, it is so comfy, I think I will have a nap." They look pointedly AWAY from their nemesis, Othercat, and then pretend to sleep. Othercat then springs, but OH NO! IT WAS A TRAP! And hours of entertainment ensues.
Samba, our aged dog, was a puppy of the wonderful Towser, my Lab Numero Uno, fathered by a great German Shepherd named Zack that was Sean's. We had given her to two old spinster ladies as a pup, and when she was about nine years old her ladies died and we took her back. It was quite a trauma for Samba to leave her refined home where hardly a child was ever seen, (and never heard!) and tea was served at four, with cakes, and the floor was polished, and she slept indoors, and no-one raised their voices, and men were respectful gardeners; To come HERE. We let her find refuge in our bedroom even though she has the shedding capability of a German Shepherd.
The kids have an interesting way of starting noisy games now: they begin with a loud CRASH, and then pause while Samba beats a hasty retreat to a quieter place. If they start a game gradually, Samba stays but gets increasingly nervous and agitated, and follows me around and drives me mad. So, better to just throw a fun snap and get it over with.
Strangely enough, the dog is not completely traumatized, and seems to be thriving. She is now 12 years old, and in perfect health. When I brush and comb her I get enough hair to make a whole 'nother dog, and she STILL SHEDS!