The Shameless Feline

On the Saturday before dragon*con, I was sitting in the computer room, tending to minor items from my dragon*con checklist. Halfway down the list was the note "clean off camera." My camera's memory card had been slowly collecting photos from various places, none of which were ever quite enough to post at any one time.

I flicked through the photos and realized that, when added to the photos I'd been socking away on my desktop "for eventual use," that I had enough for a post. Therefore, I present for you a mishmash collection: The Shameless Feline.

Huntsville representatives

A photo that only touches the bizarreness of dragon*con: the cat sleeping on my desk while I work on a recreation of the Star Wars Imperial Emblem as part of the Super Secret Dragon*Con Graphic Design project. In other words, Tenzing was being good. For once.

If you share your house with a cat for more than five minutes, you learn that cats don't actually have bones. They actually have skeletal systems constructed entirely out of Silly Putty. Every now and then, the feline skeletal system allows them to assume positions that are simply unachievable for those of us who have a solid bone structure.

The guest bed is one of my favorite places to read, but as every cat owner knows, sometimes the local felines decide a horizontal surface is theirs, and no one else may share. Case in point: when I toddled into the guest bedroom with my book, I found two cats lying where I'd normally place my book. I went to the reading room. I know when I'm beaten.

Atlanta representatives

Lest you think that only the Huntsville felines are rotten, I present a few photos snapped on various trips to Atlanta, proving that despicable feline behavior is, at the least, a Southern phenomenon.

The mystery that is Aphrodite. She could be lying in this position because her belly was too warm, her belly needed scratching, or because she wanted you to think that her belly needed scratching in order to lure you closer to nip your hand. Her eyes are giving nothing away.

The utter lack of mystery that is Freya. Aphrodite may be the goddess of conditional feline love, but in this house, Freya is the goddess of cuddles. Or the queen of laundry. Either way, it's difficult to successfully take photos of a black cat; having grown up with almost nothing but black cats in my house, I'm well aware of this situation. Thus my celebration of a successful photograph of a happy, quiescent Freya on a comfortable bed of folded laundry.

Someone once said, "The Egyptians once revered cats as gods, and the cats have never forgotten." Look no further than Danielle's resident house queen, Kara, for proof.

Her opposite also currently resides at Brian and Suzan's house, as well. The newest addition to Brian and Suzan's collection of felines is one that Brian still seems to believe they will eventually adopt out to a good home. As a result, the kitty has no name, and is simply called 'fuzzrat.' (Brian seems to understand - correctly - that if Suzan manages to name the cat, all is lost.)

Lastly, the unapproachable: the barn cats, a mother and two siblings, one of which is now gone (and I don't know which), all sleeping on a pile of leaves. They appreciate a fresh dish of milk from Suzan's goats, and will stare curiously inside the house at the inhabitants and pampered inside cats, but run away when you open the door.

It's a great life, if you can get it.

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