To sleep, perchance to dream

Cats know how to sleep – anywhere, anytime, but preferably in a sunny and safe spot. Right now BG is sleeping behind the TV stand in the corner of the living room, which is her usual morning location, after the grass mat on the floor next to my side of the bed and before that on Dennis’ knee while he drinks his morning coffee on the verandah. She has about five places she rotates to every day, depending upon the time of day and whether anyone is running noisy equipment nearby. She’s essentially blind now, after a traumatic run-in with two dogs just before Christmas Day, and literally has to nose her way around the house, as though she’s memorized her route and is counting steps without the benefit of a white cane. She tends to sleep curled up in a normal cat-like manner, nothing special. The other three, however, are something else…

Here’s Zoom on one of the few afternoons she has spent in her own home. With the Andersons living next door all winter, she seems to think that’s her family. Course, when you’re the only cat in the house, are fed milk in the morning and sashimi most days, you might get the idea that it’s the better place to be hanging out.

She disappeared a couple of years ago for almost a week, but Dennis found her living the life of Riley just over the hill with a couple who had been renting for a month. They thought she was a homeless stray. So her mug shot went up on their fridge with the caption “Do not feed this cat!” for the benefit of the next people who would be renting there. Zoom now has a reputation in the neighbourhood.

Then there’s Emme…

looking like a little hula dancer, minus the grass skirt.

And finally, Griz wins for being able to fall asleep standing up.

Notice the one limp paw and chin resting on the railing. He really was asleep, too. I’ve posted pictures before of Griz in various other poses, but this one and sleeping lengthwise in our one-and-only ceremic planter – in which we’ve never managed to grow anything – are his favourite positions.

I prefer the hammock myself.

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One response

  1. You have ten or twelve of the most ridiculous cats I’ve ever (not quite) known! Love ’em!

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