How the 2016 feuding felines peace accord is coming along …

Well it’s been a week since I last checked in with you. At that time things were pretty dire between my two boys, Sundance and Bartlett. Okay, maybe “dire” is a tad over dramatic. How about “heated?” Or “tenuous?” Nope, that doesn’t really describe the situation.

I know. “Tense.” Yes, that’s it. Things were “tense.” Sundance was definitely “tense.” Bartlett, not so much. He actually seemed oblivious. Except he couldn’t have been, because Sundance was afraid of something, of someone; and it sure wasn’t me.

Once I realized an intervention was necessary I sat them both down. Told them that they didn’t have to fight over me — that I was theirs, and that there is plenty of me to go around. Then I set about making Sundance feel

Trouble in paradise …

Yeah, I know, they look angelic, like butter would melt in their mouths. Much of the time that’s true, but not always. Not lately. It seems that Sundance (ginger tabby) and Bartlett (grey/white) are at war; and I’m pretty sure it’s over me.

Bear with me while I go back to the beginning.

I had Sundance first. Well, I had him before Bartlett joined our little family, but I adopted Zazu (who has since passed on) about three months before I got a call from a cat rescue to tell me about Sundance. Which makes Sundance the “middle child.”

My concerns about Zazu and Sundance taking to each other were unfounded. Within a few hours she was grooming him, showing him

A little shameless self promotion …

Forgive me, I don’t often do this (self promote). But I’ve wanted to do more
editorial writing for years. And as many of you know, it’s easier said than done for all kinds of reasons.

What I’ve discovered is, there’s a separation between church and state — in other words, the editors of most magazines and newspapers don’t care how long you’ve been writing advertising copy, it doesn’t make you a

I’m in the dog house …

Bartlett, one of my cats, is pissed off with me.  Majorly so; and he’s giving me the cold shoulder.  I catch him giving me dirty looks sometimes, too.  Trust me, he’s very good at letting me know where I stand.  Which at this moment in time is very low on his top-ten list of favourites.

I didn’t do anything per se, I swear.

Thing is, when I worked full time he was used to not having me around all the time.  But in the six or so years I’ve been freelancing he’s become accustomed to me being home a lot more.

If I was going to be really honest with you, which apparently I am, I’d admit there are some days I don’t go out at all.  There are some days I’m so busy writing I don’t ever get out of my

Day 300. Little Bugger

It took me a while to become fully conscious. I’d been in a really deep sleep. You know, what I mean, don’t you? When you wake up confused. Not sure where you are. Or what time it is. Or what day it is.

When you’ve probably been snoring. Really sawing wood.

Or when you wake up drooling.

I could feel myself climbing out of my stupor. Becoming aware of my surroundings. But it was very gradual. Like slow motion.

Something was tickling my face. It was feather-light. Couldn’t figure out what it was. Because I was really still asleep. At first I just tried to brush whatever it was away. But it kept coming back. First on one cheek. Then the other. Then an eyelid. Then my nose. My forehead. My chin. It felt like a bunch of teensy tiny flies flitting

Day 43. Little Bugger

Sundance.  So named, because the colour of his fur reminds me of the colour of Robert Redford’s hair, in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  

Angelic looking, isn’t he?  The cat, not the actor.  Hmmm … well, remember this.  Appearances can be deceiving.  I admit, he looks so sweet, like butter would melt in his mouth.  And he is so elegant, he has such noble bearing.  But he’s trouble.  With a capital “t”.  Yes, Trouble.  Has been, since the day I got him.  Just not happy unless he’s getting into mischief.

Like my others, he’s a rescue.  When my first cat died, at 18, I contacted a rescue group in my neighbourhood, but they didn’t have any cats at the time.  Then, about three months after I adopted one (the late, great, Miss Zazu, the diva to end all divas), the rescue called.

They’d found a very pregnant, feral, ginger female.  They took her in, cared for her, and waited.  It didn’t take long for her to have a litter.  A huge litter.  Sundance was one of six or seven teeny tiny ginger babies.  I could come and pick one out, but would have to wait another month before I would be able to take my chosen kitten home with me.  They were still far too young to be taken from their mother.

He was the cutest, bravest little thing I’d ever seen, making himself right at home the instant we walked through my front door.  Even at two months old he didn’t let Zazu intimidate him, or boss him around.  So she mothered him, instead.  It also didn’t take him a nano second to figure out that he’d just landed in Nirvana.  There was a