Cat dreams

Funny how one's cat memories bubble up when least expected. Early this morning ginger Percy, dearly departed for years, wandered into in my dream. Percy had come home - I patted him, and he knew me. Smooch!

 This is one of my all-time favourite photographs. Ever!
Ginger Cat Percy in the Forget-Me-Nots

Dear Percy - perhaps I've recently wandered past your last resting place without even knowing. I've always hoped that you passed away in my garden, out on the edges somewhere (Percy was a feline AIDS cat). I'll always miss your beautiful gingerness.

 This is Red Fred.
Fred on a Post

Cats in the garden...

Yesterday I was working near Tiger (my most recently dearly departed cat, resting in peace in the Hump's rose garden). I always chat to her when I water her (well, actually I'm watering the roses). But cat life goes on - astral communications were rudely interrupted by the Freds chasing one another through the garden, a whirling roly-poly of furry, living stripes.

OK. Enough feline reminiscing. I'm off to pull out more forget-me-nots and do the edges at the top of the Island Bed. Quite near Tiger, so if my dogs get too boring I'll at least have one of other my garden friends to talk to.

Four hours later...

Escorted inside by darkening skies, flashes of lightning, and loud rumblings of thunder. Am not used to continuous thunder - I thought a convoy of noisy trucks was roaring up and down my road. Luckily my dogs don't react at all, and the Fred cats didn't even bother to come inside. The rain only lasted twenty minutes - but it was fierce, with a sprinkling of mini hail stones.

 Just a few mini hail stones.
Wet Patio!

But I was sooooo focused out there, trimming edges and clearing out four barrowfuls of mess, not getting bored. Have now put the hoses on in the Shrubbery and the Island Bed, just to help out, and am staying inside to do further rose identification research.

 Red Fred is the cat with his eyes closed.
Two Freds Snoozing

Just thinking. My house is the least catty it's been for a while. There are just three house-cats : the two tabby Freds, plus Buster, my mercurial black beauty cat who slinks and spies and peeps through doors.

 By some rambling pink roses.
Black Buster

Then there's young Minimus the grey, who lives in the cottage. Young? I found her in the woodshed ten years ago. Old Minimus, perhaps? Oops... That doesn't sound quite right.

 Lolling in her white cane chair.
Minimus by Pond Cottage

As my oldest, senior cat cat Minimus has learnt to be remarkably nice to the younger cats. They do annoy her, though. Buster usually slinks over to the cottage first thing in the morning to spy, and at least one of the nosy Freds follows to see what's up. Poor Minimus!