I have invited you to let me tell you about Tom, my amazing friend of the feline specie. Love for the feline specie comes from the story of Peter Rabbit and Mr. Mcgregor wherein the white tabby is grooming herself by a pool of water. Later I collected insects and rocks growing up to becoming a chemist with a major oil company and later a college chemistry instruc-tor. Moving to other cities, family, etc. I lost contact with that field. Among other things, I have performed as a singer, speaker, museum docent, book recorder, newspaper reader for the blind; worked to establish a lighting business and got a mas-ters degree in radio/tv production and performance. My latest work is writing popular fiction, novels. I will try to entertain with stories about Tom and what I've learned about cats.


This is for all of you who love cats, who live with one, or more,. It is also for those of you who value friendship and enjoy the company of others. I welcome you into my life, about my cat and me. It may be we have other like interests and special loves than cats and friendship, be-cause I like to share, at times, some special insights, or some degree of enlightenment that may spring upon me. So, please join me for a little part of your day.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Hi, to all you cat lovers!

First of the year problems?  Look at your cats.  They neither labor nor worry.  They just sleep and enjoy the rest of life.  Neither do they make New Year's Resolutiions.  I stopped that years ago.  It's enough to resolve or change this or that on a short term basis.  Tom is eating with his winter appetite these days, and his tummy  proves it.  His fur is thick, even though our winter has been relatively mild.  Tom doesn't mind if I tell you a short story that I read once.  It goes this way:
             A man once dozed by his firesplace with his caat curled up on the hearth.  As the
     embers died down, the cat got up, stretched and said, "I am the king of the cats."   So
     I sometimes address Tom as, "Your highness."  Mostly, I just call him Sir Tom. 

Instead of patrolling the house at night, as their ancestors did when they were watchcats in the pagan
temples, Tom patrols and makes his "watch tour" the first thing in the morning.  He checks out the
wildlife from the windows, and checks the interiors of the cabinets -- the ones he can reach from the floor.  He has structured his day and is faithful to his habits.  He has a pretty good internal clock.

If this bog doesn't sound full of adventure, it's because I am editing an adventure novel.  I am probably applying my imagination to making that work sound more suspenseful.  But I remain
Noble Tom's guardian.