ABOUT ME

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.

WELCOME

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.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

The Purring Cat




Much has kept me from consistency in blogging, but I hope to do better.


Tom bestows his affection greatly -- each time I sit or lie down.  In my lap or if I'm prone he sits close to my face and paws at my hand to get it to pet him.  After a bit of time he appears to be satisfied and settles himself apart from me, usually that is.  Sometimes he curls up next to my back.  And those times after I sit up, I find that his head is resting on the pillow behind where my head lay.
"Imitate your mistress," he seems to be saying.


I wish Tom was a purring cat, but the best he can do is to vibrate slightly.  He does love to share my time. 


You know how cats love to knead, especially on soft surfaces.  I don't believe in cutting cats' claws, so I continue repeating my admonition to stop clawing.  "Don't claw.  No claws." And such.  And believe it or not, Tom does try to press his feet into my lap without clawing.  But next time, I repeat the commands.  His heart is willing, but his flesh is weak.
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