Dear Diary, I'm still appreciating a humming house. Osiris & I had a nice visit about it the other day while sitting at the dining table pretending we were people. He agrees that a humming house is better than

silent one. He did venture out into the snow that followed the ice though and convinced me that even if the house doesn't hum, it's better than living outside all the time. SaraSue has figured out that it isn't Osiris who runs things. While Osiris and I had our chat, SaraSue slept away in one of her favorite spots -- behind my human's back. But then again, she sleeps just about any where. I did venture outside for just a few minutes yesterday and got to say hello to Two Tic. He's doing quite well -- maintaining his weight and health through this cold spell. I found a pile of cats on the deck table with little Baby Dot tucked in the middle. They were too busy staying warm to say much. Baby Dot's the littlest cat here right now. She's the kit Calimom had been feeding, but I think that's over now as I see Baby Dot eating with the older cats and running about one her own. Once in a while I see her with Cali, but most of the time she fends for herself. That was my big excitement for the past few days. I'm sure its time for me to go take another nap now.

Humming House

Dear Diary, My bones are warm again. I've been sitting on the metal floor piece where the warm air comes from since yesterday afternoon when the house started humming again. Before it stopped, I never noticed the humming or that warm and long days were connected to the humming. Now I know. I want to live in a humming house with warmth and light during dark. If a house doesn't hum, it's of no use.

Cold

Dear Diary, I do NOT like to be cold and I've been nothing but cold since the ice fell from the sky and the house stopped humming. I've been spending a lot of time curled up in a ball sleeping, trying to stay warm. For days there was no humming in the house at all, just a steady clicking sound from a couple of the walls. It was so quiet and the only light was what came in from outside. Dark is now so much longer than light. I don't like it. Sometimes now there is a little humming in the house and a loud noise from outside. But it is still cold. Every day has gotten colder. Today is the coldest of all. I spent a lot of time at the litter box room window today, looking out at all the white. There is white everywhere outside. I'm not leaving the house until the white is gone. I want my humming house back, where the days go on for long hours and warm air comes out of the metal pieces on the floor. I want to be warm again.

Bird Watching

Dear Diary, One of my most important jobs inside the nice warm house is keeping an eye on these two white birds. They live up high where I can't reach them. That is, as long as the humans keep the chairs away from the big white box these guys sit on. One day last week, I almost made it to the top. The chair I sat on was close enough for me to leap and get my claws dug into the groove at the top of the box door. I might have made it all the way up. I'm strong. But the darn birds started to raise a ruckus and my human dashed over to me before I got to find out if I could lift myself the rest of the way up. She detached my claws from the door and set me back on the floor, moving the chair as soon as her hands were free of me. Chances are, they'll forget again sometime and that chair will be just close enough for me to jump again. It's not much fun just sitting and staring at the birds, but I can do it for hours on end. I'm willing to wait for the possibility of a joyful day.

Blood on the Snow Mystery

Dear Diary, There's snow on my back stoop. And on the snow, blood. There's more blood today than there was yesterday. I don't have time to figure out where this blood comes from. My prime objective in going outside is to take care of my business and get back in as quickly as possible. In my mad dash to get off the frozen ground, there is no evidence of the source of this blood. No drips going from one place to another. Just blood. Right there on the stoop. Don't see any bloody cats. No one with a fresh wound. So it's a mystery. But it's too cold out for me to hang around and solve.

Dear Diary, The humans have been changing things in the house again, moving stuff around. I've got my cat post back at my favorite window. Now I can keep a good eye (and yes, I have only one) on what goes on in the house and what goes on outside from the same spot. Gives me a feeling of authority, of kingship. I rule from this spot. Plus, I look cool. But wouldn't ya know, I missed all the action when the dog and humans caught the possums the other night. Those big rat things have been living under the deck for ages now. Can't remember when they moved in. Heard the humans talking that those possums must be the source of the fleas and they had to be gotten rid of. So, the other night when the man-child spotted one of the possums out eating, he came and told my human's man. Wasn't long before they loosed the dog, who ran out and rolled the big rat. Course, the possum did what possums do, it fainted dead away, just lay there while the man picked it up by the tail with a pair of pliers and stuck it in a big barrel. Just how stupid is that, laying there curled in a ball and let itself be picked up. The man got three of them that way. Later he drove away with the barrel with the possums inside, came back after a bit with the barrel and no possums. Lot of good it did though. Last night I saw three new possums in the yard. Looking for the food the humans put out for my relatives. Doesn't seem as if the humans will win this one.

Dear Diary, So I guess the baths are going to be an on-going thing. She gave me another one. Not that I'm okay with this development. I did manage the first half of the bath with some dignity -- got through the first wetting down and green goo phase without too much trauma. But then she had to turn the water on again and force me under the faucet while she scooped water over me. It was too much. Dignity went right out the window along with any attempts at composure. Now here's the really strange part -- after it was over all I wanted to do was sit on her lap. Go figure, she puts me through this horrendous experience and all I want to do is get closer to her. What's with that? Shouldn't I be running the other way? Shouldn't I do everything in my power to avoid her? I don't understand it. All I want to do is love her more and have her cuddle me. Whatever. We all got baths, but none of the others want to love her more. Lovey Bud (photos above) just wanted to be closer to me. As if I could help. I'm just as powerless as she is. Whatever this flea thing is, I don't like it.

Dear Diary, So what am I doing about this funk? I'm hanging out by the caged doves most days, lounging in a pile of leaves, where the smaller cats come to sit with me. I wonder why my human keeps these birds in a cage. I think they should be loose so I can have a shot at catching them. I'm a cat. That's my job. Catch birds. Maybe it's my human's job to cage birds.

This little kit beside me is Sally Sue. She's all that remains of BC, the magic mama. BC and the other kits vanished a while ago. Sally must not have the magic power to disappear like the rest of her family had.

Dear Diary, I've been in such a funk lately. It started a couple of weeks ago when I was sitting on my human's lap, enjoying a bit of love and affection. You wouldn't think that would cause a cat to go into a funk, but that's when it started. I was stretched out on my back, soaking up the nice tummy rub, feeling warm and cozy, legs all stretched out. The rubbing was so slow and methodical, but then the rubbing changed. It became more of a searching through my thin belly hairs. Then a little bit of almost pinching. I squirmed in her arms, but she held on tight and said, "Uh oh, little guy, you've got fleas," and kept on searching around my belly. Next thing I knew she was carrying me through the house to the litter box room. She set me on the floor, then quickly shut the door. She fumbled around for some things under the counter, and then turned on the water, picked me up, and stuck me right into the wet stuff. This was a disaster. What had gotten into her. I grabbed at her arm with my front paws, pushed into the water with my back legs and fought. She had me by the skin on the back of my neck, pushing me hard down into the sink and the water. I got wetter and wetter as she splashed water up over my back and across my belly. I continued to struggle, grasping at her arm, grasping at the edge of the sink. But she was stronger than me. It was hard to keep my eyes from popping out of my head. My heart pounded as she poured green goo over my beautiful black fur and smeared it all over me. All the time she kept mumbling something about, "You're okay little guy." I was definitely not okay. I was wet, and half out of my mind with fear. I never gave up the struggle and she never gave up the grip she had on the skin at the back of my neck. She rubbed and rubbed, covering my feet, my legs, my tail, my ears, my head, everywhere on my body with that green goo. It went on for an eternity. She turned the water on again, and again forced me into it, scooping it over my body with her free hand. It felt as if the torture would never end. Then finally, the water stopped running and she began squeezing my fur. Next thing I knew I was inside a soft dry towel and in her arms again. She was still rubbing me through the towel. She must have been tired, though, because I managed to slip out of her grip and get away. The door to the litter room opened and I was free. Free from her and the torturous ordeal. But I was still wet. My wonderful fluffy fur was mostly stuck to my body or was sticking out in spikes all about. I found a chair to hide under and licked and licked and licked until I thought I couldn't lick any more. It took me the rest of the afternoon to finally dry out. I don't know why she did that to me. I adore her. I obsess about her. And she tortured me. The trauma was overwhelming. So you see, I've been in a funk for a few weeks trying to sort things out. She hasn't repeated her strange behavior other than in my dreams.

Dear Diary, I knew it had to happen. Now that SaraSue is eating dry food our little inside group is getting less of the canned stuff. My human's been sneaking it outside and feeding it to that Calimom cat from the barn. Gees, Calimom isn't even nice to my human. When she goes outside to feed that crowd, Cali runs up to her and hisses. What kind of a greeting is that? I've never hissed at my person. Calimom gets special treatment. The food is put right into her mouth with a spoon. There's a ton of other cats that want canned food, too, but no, Calimom is the one who gets most of the can. And just because she's got a kitten in the barn.
It's really been a strange week as far as food goes. For 3 days my human put bowls of yellow colored milk outside. I managed to get some of it. Tasted a little funny. I saw her fixing the stuff. She used a big syringe, took some yellow gunk from a bottle and put it in the milk. The first day it was put out, we all fought to get it, but none of us were very anxious to have some the second or 3rd day. Hunger won out though, because she didn't put any dry food out like she usually does.
And 2 days ago, my human's man let Wild Winken Babbette in the house. That one's got me baffled. He's not been too fond of having any cats in the house. Babbette was looking a bit ill, but lots of the outside guys look sick off and on. She's been in for the last 2 days, staying in the mud room mostly, except when she comes into the kitchen to get food and water. And a bath. She got a bath today and so did SaraSue. They were none too happy about that. Then we all got new collars. It's enough to make a cat need extra nap time. So I'm off to get some much needed sleep. Thinking makes me so very tired.

Dear Diary, I was hoping the day would never come, but it has. Little SaraSue has started to eat dry food. I suppose if you're a cat, which she is, and you watch 5 other cats eat stuff day after day, which she did, you'd eventually figure out you could eat it too -- and she did.

Why should I care? That means the canned food is going to become scarce. At least she works well for a blanket. Warmth is important to me. SaraSue's a little heavier than blankets, but she is nice and warm.

Speaking of warm, that's just what Indi wasn't two days ago. She was laying out near the driveway, by the barn, cold as could be and stiff. Not a drop of warmth left in her. My human picked her up and placed her on top of the fire pile. To warm her up, I guess. I haven't seen Indi since then.

Dear Diary, I'm feeling very awake and verbal today.

Every time I see Winnie I'm amazed at how big he is. He's definitely more muscular than my dad. The two of them square off frequently, though my human steps between them when she can. That's Winnie, above, beefing up on cat food. The little cat above is Comfort. She lives on the deck. Comfort is the only offspring of J Bond's litter from this summer that lived. One can never know, but she looks like my dad. I guess I shouldn't call Comfort a her as I've never actually investigated her backside to determine sexuality. I'll have to check that out some day. Comfort mostly lives on the deck now. Used to live over by the most westerly edge of the property, close to the creek. It's a good thing Comfort has moved closer to the house now, or Comfort would have been gone forever.

Dear Diary, I knew it was going to happen. That little SaraSue has got herself a collar. The man came home with it one day. Now it's official--she's a house cat. She is kinda fun to play with sometimes. She doesn't hiss and growl at me like Morgan does. And she never eats a piece of dry food. Which means she's always pestering my human for canned food. Which means I get lots of canned food and don't have to sacrifice a bite of the dry. On the other hand, however, she's stolen my special sleeping place. And she's taken to kissing up to Osiris. I've never gotten extremely personal with Osiris, so it's not like she's taking my place there. But Osiris is highly honored in this household. Much more so than I am. He is, after all, the senior member of our group. He is respected. They don't respect me, though they love me. They consider me a beloved troubler. The dynamics are changing.

Dear Diary, I've been sleeping the month away and so much has been going on here with the cats. Big Tom has not shown his face in our neighborhood for at least two weeks. He's been the alpha, the granddaddy of all cats. But now he's gone away. No sign of him. Maybe he was feeling too much stress from the humans to become tame. Maybe he went after a rat in the creek and a bigger rat went after him. There's no way to know. We don't send out search parties. We don't do rescue missions. His genes run through each and every cat here. We will miss his face.

This moves my dad up a few notches on the dominance list. He and Winnie are always threatening to have it out, and maybe they do have their spats at night while I'm tucked into a nice warm bed and unaware of what's going on out there in the yard.

Moochie has also disappeared. She more or less vanished into thin air I think. The last few times I saw her she was getting thinner and thinner, and then poof, she was gone. Unlike Tom, who was full of vigor, Moochie was sickly and thin. I don't think she went out of the neighborhood at all. She just melted away until there was nothing left of her--no body, no bones, just thin air where she had been.

Dear Diary, I took a nice leisurely stroll around the neighborhood this morning. Finally, it's not 100 degrees and the air is not dripping with humidity. Very pleasant, with a slight breeze. The bamboo behind the man-child's building has grown about to it's maximum height for the year. This is a nice hiding place, in the bamboo stalks. Cool, too. Soil just a bit moist where the sun can't reach to dry it out. Sometimes the chickens take my spot here, but I can tolerate a chicken now and then. Chickens may look small to you, but try standing next to them when you are eye to eye with them. They are giant birds with giant claws and a dangerous beak. It's most often wisest not to argue with a chicken. As far as giant birds go, the ducks win paws down in this neighborhood. Their feet aren't as wicked as a chicken's, but I stay clear of them to be on the safe side. I do enjoy watching them float on the pond water. I've pawed at that water and my foot goes right into it. I don't float at all. Weird the way ducks don't seem to get wet and more or less simply drift around on the water.

There's a new rooster in the yard. No tail on the thing yet and a feeble crow, but definitely a rooster. My human's man brought some smaller birds home a few weeks ago and put them in the small fence cage. I heard they are 3 baby roosters and 3 other things we've never had before. They all look like small chickens to me.

I found Osiris out and about the neighborhood also this morning. He likes to be outside.

And, of course, I had to run into Greeter. That crazy boy is always kissing up to me. Can't hardly get into the house sometimes trying to get around him. All in all, if you discount my encounter with Greeter, it was a pleasant walk on a pleasant morning.

Dear Diary, My human sent two cats away yesterday. A woman who visits sometimes took our cat cage with Chucky and Maynard and drove off in her car. Today she brought the cage back without Chucky and Maynard. I don't suppose I'll ever see them again. I wonder why my human sent the cats away. I suppose if I eavesdrop on the humans' conversation I'll find out some day.

Anyway, we have some new pictures. The white cat with her nose in the camera is Lovey Bud. This is how she looks at night when she's bothering everyone and not going to sleep like she should. The other picture is me and my pals having a bite to eat. The little thing is SaraSue, who continues to encroach on my space in the house. Today I found her taking a nap on my human's bed. She's not supposed to be doing that. I thought the deal was she only got to come in for food and then had to leave right away. The orange cat is Osiris, the coolest cat in the world. Actually, he's part dog, part human and part cat. He can't make up his mind what he is most of the time. He's the only one of us that can sleep with Boris, the Siberian Husky that lives here. Guess I've never mentioned him before. Probably because he's a dog and of no consequence to me.

Dear Diary, I've more or less given up chasing Morgan. Don't know what changed, but sometimes I even sleep next to her now. Must be that my human didn't approve. My latest target is Bones, who belongs to the man-child. She's afraid of me, so I chase her. I've heard the story so many times about how that cat got her name. The human family is somewhat confused about exactly what year she was born. They think it couldn't have been the first summer they were here because that time period was spent refurbishing the buildings and property so they could get a loan to purchase. That meant new roofs on the house, the bunk house and the barn; tearing the front porch, which was falling apart, off the house; stripping paint from the house and repainting; replacing all the gutters on the house; replacing 4 windows; and probably a bunch of other stuff I haven't bothered to pay attention to. Basically, they sank every penny they had into this property when it still belonged to another person. Bones must have been born the second year they were here. The heat was oppressive that year. A sickness descended upon the farm that took the kittens into its grip. For a span of time my human was finding kitten corpses every day. She was totally unprepared for this emotional and psychological trauma. She estimated that at least 100 kittens died that summer. This is not a wealthy family that I live with. They scrimp to get by for the most part. My human's man was oblivious to the trauma this was causing his woman, being adament that money was simply not there to treat a feral colony of cats. There were many harsh words, leading to my human grabbing Bones and shaking the kitten in the man's face, screaming "This poor kitten is a bag of bones. It's going to die. How can we not do anything?" My human took one of the kittens to the vet despite her man's objections, using monies she earned indexing books. This visit led to her purchasing 50 vials of distemper medicine and syringes for administering the drug. She'd never given a shot in her life, but with the help of Melissa (her niece), she managed to administer the medicine to the cats they could catch. They had to somehow track which cats had been medicated, and that is when the naming began. A list was made with descriptions and names. Some of the kittens medicated still died, but the entire operation seemed to put an end to the disease's grip. The mostly gray kitten my human had wholeheartedly believed would die, was named Bones at that time, and some strong constitution in the kitten kept her alive, though she was indeed a skeleton draped in skin. So, I suppose I should feel sorry for her and admire her strength of will to live. But I can't seem to help myself. Whenever I see her, I just have to chase her. Such is life.

Dear Diary, I never should have mentioned the magical, mystical mama BC. She's been gone now for at least 2 weeks along with 3 of her kits. A little white fur ball with gray spots has been left behind, frightened and skittish and alone. No indication of what has happened to BC and her brood. I fear the worst (dinner by a wild animal) and hope the best (they've all moved to a new location). We'll never know. BC lived here all her life. Her mama birthed her in the cellar of the house and hid her there for 2 months. That's how she got her name -- BC, short for Basement Cat. She had to be physically extricated from the crawl space under the house. Never did take to humans. Lived on the outskirts near the creek bed as much as possible. Quite possible she moved the family across the creek and into the wheat fields to teach them how to hunt mice and not be reliant on humans. I stay closer to the house now when I go outside.

Well, here's my Lovey Bud bothering me in my secret hiding place. I found this warm and cozy place to sleep, a little risky with all the computer cords dangling around, but warm from the electrical outlets. Lovey Bud must live up to her name and love up to any living creature she can find. Unfortunately, she found me. A snarl here, a slap there and she was soon convinced this was not her spot and she was not welcome. Doesn't she know cats have a reputation for being loners?

Dear Diary, the men in the family were gone for several days, but they're back now. So glad! My human was getting cranky with me. Maybe she'll settle down now. I don't know what her problem has been. She actually snapped at me the other day when I braced my claws on her leg and stretched. I don't even get that cranky when Lovey Bud head butts me when I'm trying to get to sleep at night. Speaking of that, Lovey Bud's behavior at night is one of my pet peeves. She simply can't lay down when we go to bed. Morgan usually hides out somewhere and doesn't share my human's bed, but Osiris, Mellow and I have our spots and we settle down readily when Carol finally calls it a day. Not Lovey Bud. She kneads and kneads and paces and head butts whichever one of us happens to be in her line of site, flops down on her side, gets back up and starts all over again. Osiris leaves if Lovey starts up with him. I try to tolerate it, but if she continues to annoy me, I find a more suitable place to sleep, which means anywhere Lovey Bud isn't.

Dear Diary, I'm a bit concerned about a little runt kitten birthed by Bessie. My human calls her SaraSue. The thing's a scheming little pistol. Doesn't matter who opens the deck door, in she darts. Not an iota of fear in this mere iota of a feline. She's bold. Just this morning she aligned herself with my good buddy Osiris. Osiris is the household sage. He's the wise old man of our fivesome. Look how she creeps up on Osiris, then plants herself within inches of his head. Clever. To know she can place herself just so close, but not to touch him. I suppose she thinks she'll be moving into the house full-time soon. Whatever. My human has been adament so far about putting her back out after giving her a little food. We'll have to see what happens.

Dear Diary, been hanging outside with the other cats a lot lately. Didn't think I'd ever say this, but I miss the roosters crowing. It is easier to hear the blue jays now. But their sound is harsh and has no music to it. Yep. Definitely miss the roosters.

Dear Diary, been laying around outside watching BC's kits play in the yard. She's been secretive about this batch of offspring. Must be feeling secure now that the war is really over. The manchild had to take out another coon to stop the killing. Farm took quite a beating in the war: lost 3 roosters, 27 hens, 10 ring-neck doves, 5 kittens. Coons lost: 2. Been peaceful now for several days. Humans beefed up fences / cages around doves and chickens; managed to catch most chickens & get them back into the coop. And BC, magic mama that she is, managed to keep her 4 babes alive through it all.

Dear Diary, long night. Her man-child did it. Sad but necessary. Chicken carnage should be over. The duck this critter got last night didn't die, but it's head looks rather like hamburger. My human tried to catch the duck today to tend it's wounds. Duck ran fast and hid well. Carol will get some help tomorrow tracking it down. Let's hope the war is finished and peace will reign again.

Dear Diary, I've been watching out the window tonight. My human's man-child is up on the pump house roof watching for the coon. So far this night's only visitors have been possums. Possums are neutrals in the current war, having committed no known offenses so far. Well, that's if you don't count how they look an offense. Nothing good looking about a possum. They're just plain ugly. Possums want to eat cat food. Amazing how many animals risk their lives for cat food left-overs. Chickens are staying away from the coop. They're scattered about the farm in trees -- out on the thin brances where even my relatives wouldn't venture. Ducks are locked up in their pen, a relatively secure enclosure. Hope the man-child doesn't fall asleep up there and roll off the roof.

Dear Diary, the war continues. Coon has scored 2 more chickens and a big white duck. Humans possibly wounded coon, but no real evidence. July 4 humans were up most of the night taking pot shots at a very visible coon. It hurriedly limped away after the first shot, but was back 3 more times looking for food, so there is some doubt as to it's wound. Here's a possibility -- maybe there is more than one racoon. Tension is in the air. Egg production is down. None of the farm residents are safe. Some lives are at risk, some forfeit sleep. Stress is in the air.

Racoon

Dear Diary, I could have told them. But no, they don't want to listen to me, a mere cat. When I chased that racoon off the other day I got in trouble. None of the other cats do anything about it...they just sit there and stare at it or hiss a bit and walk away. So when I saw it eating their food, I chased it. Melissa was outside and you'd think I'd run into the highway or something. She chased me down, grabbed me, scolded me, and put me in the house. They were picking up dead chickens before I chased it and they are still picking up dead chickens. But now they KNOW the racoon is the one killing the dumb birds. Now my human's man has a gun and we all have to be careful not to get in the line of fire because he's shot a lot of times and the coon is still running around killing. Two more dead ones in the coop this morning. They smell. Not hard to know something's dead. The humans thought the coop was safe. They beefed it up, checked the wire, looked for loose boards. Coon is smarter I guess. It's war now. No negotiations. Coon will surely die in the end. It should have stuck to eating cat food. Suppose that's what happened to Indi mom's kits. Coon food.

Dear Diary, It's been a strange few days. First one of Indi mom's kittens went missing and then the next night her last kitten went missing. Now the big blue dog house is empty. None of the cats are sleeping in it. Don't know what happened. Either a kit-napping or some wild creature came into the yard. Carol was sad. Then yesterday Carol's man locked me in the barn. At first I didn't notice. Light was coming in so I just kept on exploring. There's a lot to smell in the barn. But then it got darker and darker. Everything was strange and hard and dirty. Eventually, I could hear my human calling my name, but I couldn't get out. She called and called, and then all was silent again. I don't know the barn layout at all. It's not some place I usually go. Time passed. I heard my name being called again and again. Then silence again. I was frantic to return to the house, but couldn't find a way out. All of a sudden there was a creak and the door opened. It was the man. I ran and hid. Lights flashed on. From the house I heard my name called again. But now I had to get past the guy. He saw me and called me, but I ran from him. He was the door keeper. What if he locked the door again. I waited until the guy went about his business and wasn't paying attention to me. Then I ran out the big door. I hurt my feet on something cold and hard but I kept running. Carol was no longer calling for me. What if I got stuck outside again. I remember the last time I got stuck outside at night. It was the most frightening thing that has ever happened to me. I wandered across the creek that time and into a wide field. There was howling close by and I saw teeth and lots of eyes glinting in the moonlight. The treeline seemed miles away, but I made a dash and flew up the rough trunk onto a wide branch. My night was spent in the tree. When daylight broke I had to wade through water to find my way back into the farm yard. Carol's man was there and he let me into the house. I was wet and tired. So now, with Carol no longer calling me, I feared the worst. I didn't want to stay outside all night. But then, there was her voice again, calling my name. I ran to the door and straight into the house. Carol scooped me up in her arms, but I was so into my imagined night outside that I clawed at her face. Somehow she understood and put me in my favorite sleeping place. I slept a long, long time and when Carol went to bed I made sure I had my usual place next to her. Now it's a new day and I'm ready to be trouble again.

Dear Diary, Carol says I've got a few screws loose. just because I sit and stare at her, chirping once in a while. She shouldn't say things like that to me. A cat's got feelings too. It's really not my fault that she doesn't understand what I'm saying. Sometime she just ignores me. That's when I have to start knocking things over to get her to understand I want something. What, she thinks I'm staring because I like the way she looks? Fat chance. I stare when I need something. Right now I want to go outside. How hard is that to figure out. I've eaten both wet and dry food; I don't want to nap; what else is there. I've got her attention now. signing off to take a walk about the yard. Maybe I'll harass a chicken or two.

figured out the photo thing. here's J Bond & her litter. guess we know now if J is a Jane or a James. she was always on a secret mission, hiding from cats & humans. looks like five in that pile. she better learn to hide better from the boys.

Indi mom started off with 2 white and one mostly black kid. now she has 2 dark ones. one of the little white guys didn't make it. but due to circumstances beyond her control she got to adopt. BC had her kits back in the chicken yard, got discovered by Melissa and true to BC's nature, she took off leaving one of her kits behind. Now Indi has it. Tiny little varmint. don't know where BC has her kids stashed now.
Found more of the little critters south of the barn. tried to add their pic, but can't get the photo thing to work now. well, what do you expect. I'm just a cat.

Dear Diary, the wind has been blowing hard for 2 days. sticks falling out of the big oak. better to stay inside. but, hey, I'm a nice guy, so I've been doing the walk-about with Carol in the morning when she feeds my outside relatives. It's getting scary over south of the barn. so many darn kittens. everywhere you look kittens.