The last post sparked two email conversations about cats. Y’all know the Silver clan has just-shy of too many cats. So I said hey, let’s do a “Meet The Cats” segment.
Here’s the first feline stationary long enough this morning to photograph: This is Beezer. She’s five. She came to us as a stray, and life has never been the same since. Many of you will be familiar with the type—will look you dead in the eye while knocking shit off your desk, but will also come hide in your lap because reasons. Also known as the informer child of the cat crew. If Wilson (the dog) has gone out but wants back in, this cat will yell her head off until one of the human staff opens the door.
She is also the family murder machine. Pretty sure other of our cats would allow mice and bugs to march straight across their eyeballs. Not this one. She is the killer queen. Or just the queen, period.
She is so beautiful, bet she is pleased with written piece all about her – is she the stray who had a tummy full of kittens when you got her?
Yep, she’s the one. Spayed now, thank heaven.
I remember the kitten’s!! And have heard about Breezer before if I recall? I love that you talk about your cats. My ex-husband has the cat. Filo- named after a Clint Eastwood character Fill Beddo from “any which way you can”. Fill is the true King of the house. And a murdering little shit! And with pride the vet said he’s got the best teeth he has seen on any cat and that is because of all the fur and bone he eats.. Just not fun to wake up to guts and heads on your kitchen floor especially when you find them with your bare feet half asleep…
Breezer is a beauty and a smart one by the sounds of it.
Oh lord, I had a cat like Filo, years ago. Her name was Yngwie. Very similar to Beezer in personality. Death on four legs. Hubs and I were once standing outside while she was lurking around the garden; we both watched as she jumped five feet straight up to snatch a bird out of the air. Also known to pick up baby birds—three at a time—out of their nests and carry them into the house, dangling. And I won’t even get into her Lecter-esque-capades with baby rabbits.
I do miss her, though I can’t quite think why, the little terror.