Happy Friday, feline friends! We hope you had a wonderful week. Here’s what we’ve been chatting about this past week.
Friend or Foe?
Harley: What is dat?
Mama: It’s okay, Harley. You got this!
Our most recent addition and a #fosterfail, Harley still takes a cautious approach to most everything in the house. But when he discovers it’s nothing to be afraid of, he moves on or just ignores it. Harley continues to open up more and more every day, and he doles out the ol’ whappy paw quite frequently (mostly around mealtimes). Poor Eddie (our dog) walks a big arc around Harley if he needs to go by him. Harley prefers spending his time with me (mama) vs. the other cats. But I have seen him get pretty close to Woodrow on the bed several times. Can’t call it a snuggle, but they don’t mind sleeping next to each other at night. Overall, Harley has settled in nicely and is now just another Chatty Cat. He’s actually one of the more vocal ones (again, mostly around mealtimes). And that’s our Friday update for you! What do your kitties think of the vacoom monster? Friend or foe?
Woodrow: So you’re telling me all I need to do is cuddle snuggles for 20 minutes with you, nail trims without squirming and leave Olive alone after breakfast? Then I can get two tunas a day, my own nip nanner and exclusive rights to the sofa scratcher?
Woodrow: Deal. Let’s shake on it.
Sophie: Look, Ma! I’ve got on my Sunday best.
Mama: Where are you headed?
Sophie: To the top!
Mama: Of what?
Sophie: The cat tree, of course.
Woodrow: Mama, is it safe to come out yet?
Mama: Safe from what?
Woodrow: From Monday.
Mama: Yes, Monday is almost over.
Woodrow: Come and get me when it is over. Please and thank you.
Mama: Well, someone is looking tortilicious today.
Olive: Well, someone is looking humalicious today as well.
Olive: Never mind. Let’s agree to never use that word again.
Mama: You two look comfy.
Sophie: Yep, I’m super dee-duperty comfy!
Dexter: No comment.
Harley: Mama, I noticed you don’t have any photos of me on this shelf yet.
Harley: And so I thought I’d be a living statue.
Mama: You’re gonna get hungry up there.
Harley: (trying not to blink…whispering) Mama, statues don’t eat. Must. Be. Still.