Ralph, my redheaded cat, is a natural-born clown. He keeps himself and me amused, racing up and down the stairs, knocking anything and everything off all flat surfaces, making brrrp-brrrp sounds and, in general, making me laugh. As with all middle children, I have to make sure he gets enough attention. I stroke him whenever he's within reach, as he seldom can find a parking spot on my lap. I've finally gotten Bessie Anne over her panic attacks, but Celeste continues to occupy her place in the chair most of the time. Ralph did jump up for a couple of passes yesterday, but he is too "Ralph" to settle down for a nap or a cuddle; a quick inspection and he was off again.
By 11 a.m. yesterday, there were only scraps in the field for the three or four big birds left onsite. Amazing.