Mom mentioned a friend who once had two dogs, and when one died both she and the surviving dog took it hard; so now she keeps three dogs of staggered ages.

My cats are brothers, now six years old. I have long had in mind that in 2021 I’ll look to add one about 5yo – rather than get a kitten now, because older animals are harder to place.

But today at the shelter I saw many kittens whose data sheet said “would prefer to go home with a sibling,” and thought of saying, “Next time a batch of kittens is down to an odd one, call me and I’ll take it, if it’s not solid black (like Rocky and Bramble).” A sad proviso, but one must be practical.

When I repose in the easy-chair, Bramble likes to sit on my heart. Today Rocky got there first and took Bramble’s spot, though he usually prefers my knee. Bramble then came along; after much dithering he settled across Rocky’s back, but soon decided that this arrangement was unsatisfactory.

I was in the kitchen. Rocky came in, crying. I scritched him. He ran to the comfy chair, stood beside it, looked at me, called once again. I went and sat in the comfy chair, and Rocky jumped up to claim his usual seat on my knee.

On average, my cats don’t ask for much attention; a head-rub suffices for half the day. For a few days recently, they were much more demanding. Perhaps it was the change in the weather; we’ve had a week or so of autumn, though Thursday was summery again.

It bothers me that Rocky and Bramble, though not obviously neurotic, don’t share the joyful manner of their predecessor Pillow (2005–2010?), who gave the impression of expecting fun around every corner. What am I doing wrong?

It now occurs to me: at least part of the difference must be that, as Rocky and Bramble never go outside, I never see them trotting.

I found a laser pointer lying around …
Bramble sat up and watched the spot attentively.
Rocky chased it like a demon.

Another thing I like about my kitties: they never knead me.