I’m trying to eat.
And don’t tell me we are starving him. He has been eating like a hors… well, like a little pony the last couple of days.
Author: eklastic
Zu alt, um nur zu spielen. Zu jung, um ohne Wunsch zu sein.
expanding horizons
Yesterday it was live theatre, today it is TV – Henry is watching a South African animal documentary about servals with baited breath (and pricked up ears). He sits in a shoe carton and enjoys the show. Lothar is missing his crime show.
in the tradition of Ibsen
Due to the cold weather (which means staying in) Henry is experiencing the joy of live theatre. Our neighbour has two Jack Russels, called Cox and Waltraud, and they are out in the garden each afternoon chasing balls and chasing each other (and they wouldn’t be adverse to chasing a cat, too, if they get half a chance). Henry used to go into hiding when he saw or heard them. But now he is glued to the window, with his ears pricked up and his eyes wide open watching those two running themselves ragged. As he gets older he might appreciate other schools of theatre but at the moment he is definitely a fan of naturalism, yet appreciative of the fourth wall.
This is a photo of Cox as a small puppy.
baby, it’s cold outside
I think Henry is maturing. (höhö!) But he seems to have accepted the fact that when it is white outside (be it snow, be it hoarfrost) it means it is FREEZING.
He still goes outside but much more reluctantly than when the temperatures where above zero and he doesn’t fight me for the control of the door anymore (at least at the moment).
Maturity comes with experience, not age.
nine rich men
We have a magnificent wall hanging which we brought from South Africa and which has had pride of place in all our living rooms ever since. Henry likes it, too. He likes it so much that every now and again he tries to claw his way up.
I haven’t been able to take a picture of him doing it because I am too busy sprinting over to the wall, shouting “Noooooo!” and getting him down without his claws either ripping the tapestry or the tapestry (or me) declawing him.
Incidentally, the tapestry is called “Nine rich men”.
hunting and gathering
I’ve been missing a ball of yarn, a half finished little doll, one of a pair of fingerless gloves … I looked everywhere, to no avail.
Until today. I found all of it as well as one minion doll, a soft toy and a sock of mine. It was in Henry’s transport box, in the far corner. Henry is a hoarder.
gold is where you find it
Although I have declined the offer of a fully automated cat litter box I also don’t have a plain sand box for Henry. I decided to buy a three part litter box, the middle part being a sifting tray. So instead of using a scoop to fish out the litter clumps (a process a cat-owning friend of mine calls her “daily zen”), I now stand every night with the tray, gently swirling it around so that the sand falls through and the clumps stay behind. I imagine myself to be a prospector in Pilgrim’s Rest during its gold rush years, standing ankle deep in cold water and prospecting for gold.
Interesting fact (in the circumstances): English fool’s gold is called cat’s gold (Katzengold) in German.
push-over: I am but I can’t
Not that I needed more reasons to procrastinate but every now and again (like every night) Henry decides to go to sleep across my forearms while I am typing. I could shift him but then he does this incredibly cute little sound like a soft baby sigh, and I just melt. I am such a sucker!
maybe it’s the name?
When it happened the first time I thought it was a fluke. But it has happened again last night and now I know: Henry is weird.
He is usually interested when I prepare food but it’s a definite “look don’t touch” approach. Unless I prepare lamb’s lettuce. Henry seems to love the stuff. He attacks the bag it comes in, then attacks my hand until I let him have a few leaves. Go figure.
a stitch in time
I have a cat. I crochet.
It was inevitable that I would get project suggestions from friends. This one came from Lynne (who saw it here):
I loved the idea and immediately set to work. Here is my crochet rendition of Henry:
Unfortunately, he had his eyes closed when he posed for me.
Henry 