This is Pete. Pete is the most passive, mellow, gentle cat you will ever meet. He's also, like most cats, stuck up. We like to nudge him over onto his back, always marvelling at his complete lack of ambition: he doesn't fight. He curls up and dozes off, right where he lay on the floor. Everything life throws at him, he acts like that was his plan all along, he just hadn't quite got around to it yet.
Yesterday morning, Pete was nowhere in sight. We keep our cats inside, but now and then they've been known to make forays into the wild. In our former life in Ithaca, Pete was an outdoor cat. Pete has never forgotten this. After a concerned (but mostly amused) ten minutes, I spotted him, barely eight feet off the ground in the crotch of the colassal black walnut that shades our backyard. Marooned. Desperate. Crying for salvation.
This, from a cat whose face has never bore an emotion other than mischeviousness, conceit, or utter insouciance.
Well, it was a different side of Pete I experienced as I eased myself onto the top step of the ladder and reached for that plush underbelly. He was definitely rattled after his night in the wilderness. I think he probably had his ass handed to him by one of the neighborhood strays, or maybe a raccoon. It wouldn't take much to knock the stuffins out of that sissy.
In other news, I finished this today:
That linen was part of a cute dress (size 4) I bought at Salvation Army awhile back. I loved the material. The more I shop for fabric, the more firmly I believe that the best way to get it is via thrift stores. Viva recycling!
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