"Well girl, you are now a "blogger babe" with a portfolio of pictures on Flickr."
I have just informed Psyche of this astonishing fact and she is totally non-plussed.
How's that for not letting fame go to her head?
Hopefully I will still remember how to put her picture into this post. But just in case I will describe her to all of you who have not met her yet.
She is a Blue-point Himalayan and is over eleven years of age. In human years that's over seventy. She's very flexable for her age and can still do things that I couldn't do even when I was twent
y. She has more grey hair than me but then again she was born grey, so guess that doesn't count. Her coat is soft, silky and long, what is left on her that is. Every day hands-full moult off on our dark rusty brown carpet. (I warned Tim that dark carpet and light, long haired cats are not a good mix.) I know everywhere she has been while I've been at work , the fur trail follows her. If no fur trail then she has slept all day, most of the time on my bed.
We never leave her outside unless we are home and she is inside every night. She has her own private sandbox (we don't make her share with us) but unless desperate never uses it. We are awakened in the morning about five minutes before the alarm rings and Tim has to let her out for tiddlies. She is then straight back in to hassle Tim for some of his lunch that he is preparing to take to work. After Tim leaves for work it's back up to Mum, who is still in bed, for a scratch and cuddle and a short nap til my alarm goes off. Yes, you are correct, I don't get up to get my husband off to work, he is quite capable.
After the dreaded alarm, if I don't look like I am getting up immediately then she feels it's her duty to get me moving. Psyche tries several different things, from meowing, to walking over me, to knocking things off the bedside table, until I haul myself out of bed. Unfortunately she doesn't realise that Thursday is my day off and sometimes on this day I have to remind her with a well aimed pillow. When I come out for breakfast she lies to me and tells me that Daddy didn't feed her and she is starving so I give her some of my lunch meat then and out she goes for a quick sniff around and a last minute leak. Must be quick as I leave in about five minutes now. A quick call from me, a rattle of the car keys, or the stomp of heels on the floor, and she is inside again in a flash ready for her daily duty of fur spreading.
She is a C.W.A. which is short for a Cat With Attitude and boy does she know how to use it.
She loves being stroked and will get upset when you get interested in TV and stop. She will turn and glare at you or nip you if she has had enough and wants you to stop. It's hard to find the middle ground with this you can get a Nip if you do and Nip if you don't. I still have a few scratch marks to show for this, but as I now give back as good as I get, she has softened a bit in her old age.
Food is a real hassle as what she loved yesterday is not on her most wanted list today and we (Tim mostly) are always trying to please her with a little bit of this or that. Mainly the most expensive meat and believe me she is just as likely to turn up her nose at champagne leg ham at $15 kg as she is at $5 kg devon. She is a good tester for meat though won't touch anything that isn't fresh, fresh, fresh. Well Prison Break is about to start in ten so bye for now as I still have to put on her picture.
