Meet Dixie, a mixed-breed rescue too smart for our good; and Cat, who doesn’t really have a name because she wouldn’t answer to it anyway.

Here you see them in a rare moment of togetherness, where Kitty appears to be giving Dixie a fuzzy-tongued facial scrub. Two minutes later, they were chasing each other around the house; but for this moment, all was peace and quiet.

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More often than not, you’ll find Miss Kitty (as I call her) making herself at home in the box from the latest Amazon or UPS delivery. She has a lovely kitty condo, where she does enjoy climbing to the roof and looking out the window at the birds (and bunnies, and deer, and whatever) in the back yard. But given a choice, the box wins, hands down.

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While Dixie, spoiled girl that she is, can often be found lying under my Rollator, waiting for her daily — or twice daily — “scratch,” which actually includes a full-body massage. And when I find exactly the right spot that needs a little extra work, like a shoulder or a hip, she’ll turn her head to look at me with gratitude, and give me air kisses.

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And here she is in another favorite spot — bib already tied on — watching dinner being served and wondering why there’s never a place set for her at the table. Yeah, she looks starved, doesn’t she?

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I just thought you’d like to see that, amongst all of the horrible things I write about on a daily basis, there is sanity in my life. The fur babies are really my son’s; but while everyone else is at work during the day, they’re all mine.

Well, Dixie is, anyway. Miss Kitty is, after all, a cat . . . which means she belongs to no one but herself. Except, of course, at dinnertime.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
8/20/24