Yesterday we had visitors including a big dog. My boys briefly hid in the bedroom, then came out cautiously for a better look. Rocky even touched noses with the dog.

The local Humane Society gets a surprising number of cats with kinked tails, and I don’t mean the classic Siamese bend at the last bone; I’ve seen about six with two or more right angles.

For “Black Friday” the local Humane Society has a special on black cats; so I took two, born in June. They quickly made themselves at home.

A few pix.

Faré tells me that the French for ‘play tag’ is jouer à chat (‘play at cat’).

The local Humane Society has such a hard time placing black cats that it offers a deep discount on the adoption fee.

I think we tacitly imagined that Fluffie’s end would come while she slept contentedly on my lap. This week it became clear that that was not on the menu.

If cats could reminisce verbally about good old times, what would they say?

It appears that Fluffie is not long for the world.

Pillow has been missing for twelve days. *snif*

I wish I’d asked the vet to check his chip, when he was in for a shot last month.

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