It was an on-again, off-again sunshine day. Every time the clouds parted, Bessie and I would take advantage to go out and do a little something like restocking the porch wood rack or deadheading the marjoram in the front garden, anything to get out of the house. Then the sun would hide its face and the wind would blow cold and we'd make a quick retreat. On one of our excursions around the deck, I looked down to see a very pregnant doe (deer variety) grazing in the front pasture. From her swollen belly, I imagine it won't be long before she gives birth, maybe in my woods, and hopefully we'll get to see her fawn(s).
I'm not saying that one can influence kittens to become one way or another. Cats have such definite, distinctive personalities and they are rarely as trainable as dogs. At least with kittens, you get a pretty good idea from the start if they're going to be lovers, hunters, fighters, or, like Clyde, a cat I know, just plain crazy. Ralph and Celeste came as young adults, sight unseen, picked from a photo by Larry. They were the proverbial 'pig in a poke,' meaning you take what you get and deal with it. I really lucked out with these two. Their personalities differ, but they are such sweet cats. Both firmly believe that laps are for cuddling, and I agree most of the time. I'm not too sure about that while in the bathroom, but to them a lap is a lap, regardless. Celeste is the more sedate of the two and occasionally takes it upon herself to chastise Ralph. Ralph will zing around the house like a thing demented and Celeste will watch that red streak by for just so long before literally slapping him upside the head and stopping him in his tracks. That usually results in a wrestling match because he says, "You aren't the boss of me!" Celeste knows that the cat food dish has been moved to the counter. She can easily make the jump and to make it more accessible I've pulled out a midway stool for her. Even so, as I stand waiting for my coffee in the morning, she gives the tiniest meow and says, "I'm too little. Lift me up." And, of course, I do. Celeste has also developed a liking for dog food (that dish is on the floor). Dog kibble is larger than the dry cat food and as Celeste crunches away, bits fall from her mouth. Bessie cleans up just about everything that drops in the kitchen, but she tells me that while she may have to tolerate sharing her food, she is not going to pick up after Celeste. "That stuff has cat spit on it. She's your cat. You can clean it up." And, of course, I do. Both cats have made friends with Bessie Anne and share bed and chair with her. I've brought so many critters into the house that Bess just heaves a sigh and says, "Here we go again." Maybe she remembers that once upon a time, she was a little pig in a poke, too. And I lucked out then, also.