Cats in My Life
I don’t have any cats of my own. But that doesn’t prevent me from having cats in my life.
Remember Hillel, who likes to lie down on my backpack? This time he left it alone, going for bigger and better things, like my lap. I didn’t complain too much. Smart cat—he’s figured out which of the two is more fun.
See his throat? Thanks to good veterinary care, the injury has long since healed. All that’s left of it is a straight, narrow scar. Thank goodness.
This fellow lives near my apartment building. For a while I got him confused with Mr. Neighborcat (whom you’ll meet in a bit). I haven’t figured out what to call him yet, but isn’t he beautiful?
I’ve learned to decipher at least one of the calls of the Palestine Sunbird couple who live in our garden. It’s the frantic one that shouts: Intruder! Predator! Cat! Cat! Cat!
Here are two reasons why I heard that call this morning. Her Ladyship was on one side of the garden ...
... and Mr. Neighborcat was on the other.
It’s no wonder those little birds stay so high up.
Finally, here is a cat near my workplace, in meditation.
Doesn’t he look like he knows something really profound? I think so.