I live in an old house on Oak Court.  My wife,  our son and his daughter  and I live in a nice house built back in the early 1930s.  The block is quiet; very little traffic, other than the squirrels, birds and cats.  The cats….

As anyone who has provided a home to felines knows, you don’t own cats, you provide them with a place to sleep and a steady supply of food.  You never really ‘own’ them,  in the way you ‘own’ dogs, turtles and parrots.  If they are pleased, they will allow you to continue showering them with affection, food and the occasional touch of catnip.

Four cats reside in this house on the court.  I’ll introduce them in future posts; for now you can assume they are pleased with the quality of the food and the quantity of kitty litter and have not expressed the desire to move elsewhere.

It’s mid-afternoon as I write this; they’re scattered around the house and yard.  The queen is sleeping on the sofa while the young female is napping on top of the boxes of Christmas decorations above the garage.  The older male is sleeping on top shelf of the cat tower, in the living room.  And the young male, a Maine Coon, is happily stretched out in the flower box behind the garage.  The house is at peace.

While they’re quiet I can go about cleaning the bowls, shoveling the litter and putting away the various cat toys that are scattered about the house.  It’s quiet and that may not be a good thing – I don’t know what they are up to.

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