This is the cat I was talking about, you know the cardinal murderer. See how it looks at me with its calculating, steely, cold blue eyes. You can tell she barely tolerates me. I’ll bet a cat wrote the book, “The Borrowers”. Thank goodness mice-sized people are only fictitious, otherwise I would have joined the others in the killing field.
I know some of you probably think the cardinal had it coming and it’s mother should have been watching it closer. However, I am on the on the cardinal’s side.
Reposted from Facebook:
I hear an owl outside, at first it is a scary noise. Then I wonder if owls eat skunks. Suddenly the owl is my friend. I am imagining a whole wildlife rock paper scissor game. Cats play a big part in this game, since I am always coming home and stepping over the corpses of their prey. Once beautiful cardinals, weird looking creatures, perhaps these are moles; all losers in the rock paper scissor scheme of things. I think I hate cats. They seem to have claimed my yard as… their domain. When I come home they look at me with contempt and often glare at me. The worst is when I come home late…it is never good when something jumps out at you behind a flower pot. I wonder if owls eat cats (:
If you have a cat, or a houseful of cats, or have always wanted a houseful of cats; sorry no offense (but really what the *#!& are you thinking). The only thing that could redeem the cat is if they ate skunks. Then I could forgive their cutting looks.