If you’ll indulge me, this is a drive-by post. You’ll also indulge me for indulging myself in cat-blogging.
Pudding, the poor darling, is a Pirate Cat and derives much enjoyment in her quiet hours from wondering what kind of poem T. S. Eliot would have written about her if only he’d had the chance. She is a true swashbuckler, robbing the high carpets of shiny giftwrapping bows and strawberry pincushions, hiding her stash in under-the-bed islands. Alas, though, there is a disadvantage to being a proper Pirate Cat. She has only one eye, which means she doesn’t have depth perception, which means that jumping is a problem. From the beginning, she has wanted very badly to make the jump from my bed onto the top of my chest of drawers, but just can’t work up the confidence to try it.
Yesterday, as a reward for allowing me to pick her up (“arrr, unhand me ye scurvy landlubber… oh… I say, this is really quite an interesting new perspective. Okay then.”), I deposited her on top of said furniture. Ooooh, the kitty ecstasies!
Pudding would like to claim this island in the name of Spain, for the glory of the queen Isabella… does that make her a Privateer Cat?
