It’s July. It’s Hot. Hotter than it’s been in previous summers.
Thankfully while the days are warm (warm by Cactusville standards, which I still use to judge how hot the days are) the evenings cool down 20 or 30 degrees once the sun sets. Cool enough so that if one is up early, you can open the windows and let the morning breezes in.
The cats are mostly puddles of fur at this time. Sir Puck decided this window was just the ticket to cool down before the house was closed up. I think it’s his second nap of the morning. Second Nap? Second Breakfast? He prefers the nap.
Weather is warming up, here at Casa Thunderpaws. This is evidenced by the birds and other wildlife that have come to call.
It’s been warm enough to start opening the windows in the afternoons. This has made the cats quite happy. There are new smells to energize kitty brains.
This little fellow caused quite a stir. All three of the Hellboys were in the window, and he was scolding them no end!
Go away! Don’t look at me! This is my patio!
Scram! Scoot! Skedaddle!
One by one, the Hellboys left the window. If Mr. Squirrel wasn’t going to come inside to play, they had other cat business to attend to.
Phred, asleep on his perch.
I am always amazed how a large cat curls into such a small space.
Sunday morning it snowed. Large, white flakes, blowing nearly sideways. The boys, Max and Puck were utterly entranced by it. Every so often, they would paw at the window, trying to catch a flake or two. That’s the neighbor’s barn in the background.
We got about 4 inches. By 2pm, the sun was out and everything started to melt. Most of the snow was gone by Monday.
Phred: 13 pounds, 1 year
Phred is our educated cat; he has a PhD in feline. You may call him Doctor Phred. He’s another hand-raised boy from the same vet, though not from the same family as Max and Puck. He was abandoned in a drainage ditch as a wee little furbot.
We brought him home last year when he was just weaned off formula, a tiny little thing of barely a pound. Now, he’s following Max’s example of girth, growing into a small, compact tank of a cat. So much so, his middle name is Sherman. He is one solid little boy. A brick. A tank.
Phred makes us laugh. He has a take-no-prisoners, live-with-gusto attitude. Cats are supposed to be graceful, aren’t they? Phred didn’t get that memo. He’s an all or nothing type of fellow. Leap, then look!