The Cat

Here is the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to him; he feigns affection, when his feed bowl is empty, and he lies on my bed when it is raining outside. We are all very grateful when he sits in the same room with us; 'there you are', we cry' he does love us'. He is a lean, mean, and rather ineffective hunting machine who has to be taken to the vet twice a year for grooming purposes as he refuses to be brushed. As he needs a general anaesthetic in order to be cleaned up, this little outing costs $125 a pop. He is the black sheep, or cat, of his aristocratic Maine Coon family; the reason we have this renegade is because he was a sad disappointment to the woman who wanted him to sit on her lap while she combed him and she looked for a good home for him. Or any home I think, by that time. He allowed me to remove the dust, leaves and debris that he wears with pride for this portrait, but only on Photoshop.

This early blipfiller is made as I am going to be out all day, so I shall catch up with you all tomorrow.