I spent the weekend in Peterborough visiting an old (and new) friend who celebrated her 70th birthday by having her first art show in forty years. She is a sculptor whose work is technically excellent but whose real talent shows through in her rendering of emotion through body language. I am buying a piece called "Grief".
Claire and I had lost touch until we reconnected while we both visited our friend, Pat in London. This was our first visit together since then and we had a wonderful time getting to know one another again. One of the many things we found we had in common was our love of animals.
My post today features Willy.
Willy is the resident cat ... and he is VERY naughty, athletic, and funny. If I visit again before Claire comes here to the lake, I will take Kenya with me. I wonder what she will think of a cat who not only leaps up on counters, but licks the butter knife! I am sure it will offend all Kenya's notions of good animal behaviour, but I have noticed that she is not nearly as bossy with cats as she is with dogs, no doubt because she has discovered that they are completely incorrigible.
Willy provided us with our only adventure during the weekend. He heard something in the basement and wanted downstairs.
As soon as Claire opened the basement door, a terrified starling flew into the dining room and settled among the plants and glass bottles in the bay window. Willy leapt after it in hot pursuit. Bottles crashed to the floor. Plants exploded their leaves.
The bird led the cat into the livingroom where Willy brought a curtain rod crashing down.
All this carnage likely took less than three minutes, and Claire and I stood transfixed as the drama sped by us.
By the time the bird returned to the plants and stood shivering on a sill between flower pots, Claire had gathered her wits, fetched a tea towel, and draped it around the terrified creature. She carried it outside and I began to pick up bottles and sweep up leaves. Amazingly, nothing was damaged. Not even the glass bottles which had tumbled several feet.
As she went into the livingroom to put the curtain rod back up.Claire remarked that the plants had been in need of grooming anyway. The adventure was over; Willy had had a taste of excitement for the day; and none of us, including the starling, suffered heart failure.
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We go to our framer Deborah Lyall in Greely every week and their sweet, cuddly, belly-offering cat will suddenly spot the resident chipmonk (this week back on their outside table) placidly eating peanuts just an inch beyond the glass. The house cat instantly turns into an intense wild creature you would do well to respect. It can fairly raise the hair on the back of the neck to watch the transition.
And many days in summer, both her cats will bring in a mouse or two as offerings and lay them carefully on the rug for Deb. She accepts them and never scolds.
As I catch up on your blog, I have my kitty Oliver sitting on my lap--actually, he's lying on his back, slightly upside down and comfy as ever. He's far too lazy to cause that kind of a raucous but I can definitely appreciate the position of the humans of the cats who must find something to get into--especially when it involves another creature...
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