You get your cats all trained not to go digging in the trash for the least bit of used butcher paper or the paper bag some buttered pastry used to be in, and then you get a new cat and you have to start all over again.
Or put the paper recycling out more often.
Like every 5 minutes.
Sometimes I think she just likes the sound of it being pushed and chased all over the kitchen floor.
Alright, she's not really my cat. She's gone home already, in fact. Mericia dropped her off two weeks ago, on her way to spend the holidays in England, and I just had time to snap a few last-minute pix before she came to reclaim her furry little one.
It was an interesting fortnight. Bella is sweet and cuddly, and held her own against the permanent residents of the house. No friendships forged, but nothing broken either.
I'll kind of miss having an energetic young cat running around, playing with ribbons and getting under the rugs. Mine are all middle-aged now, and while they will play with strings drawn tantalizingly across the back of the couch, they don't make their own fun anymore.
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