He sits at the end of his bed (well, it used to be our bed but now he lays claim to it) and keeps watch.
We be safe.
Tag: Katze
Dream vs reality
2 am.
Me: Dreaming of preparing and eating some crackly peanut brittle.
Henry: Mousies be crunchy!
7 am.
Me: Stepping almost but not quite on the lower body part of a mouse.
The Suicidal Mouse
Henry brought his first mouse of the year into the house. He couldn’t do it quietly and had to tell me about it. That means, he opened his mouth. And out dropped the mouse.
It ran into the bathroom. I knew he would hide behind in the gap between the wall and the washing machine and he might die there. We decided to close the bathroom door and deal with the situation in the morning.
This morning I entered the bathroom and was greeted by a drowned mouse in the toilet bowl. How` I don’t know. Why I don’t even want to think about.
Leap Year Present
What a considerate cat we have. Henry just hopped up on my desk and sat between me and the keyboard. Normally he would settle down and snuggle on my arms (making it very difficult to type – but what is love without a little pain?). Today he looked at me and threw up his dinner. Making sure it was on the desk and NOT on the keyboard. Nice kitty!
Who Switched My Cat?
I hardly ever take selfies. Certainly, I don’t take selfies early in the morning with my hair all ruffled and my eyes puffy and still half shut. But there is always an exception to the rule.
After a night of three caught and killed mice dragged into our bedroom, one eaten except for the green wobbly bit (Henry has been reading Terry Pratchett’s The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents and taken this invaluable advice from Dangerous Beans), all accompanied by a song of praise for the successful hunter, Henry woke me up again at 6.30 am (although he was fed earlier).
He bumped my nose quite a few times, I got my arms, my back, my boobs massaged, then he settled down for some self-grooming, and finally snuggled in my armpit, where he fell asleep. I didn’t. So I could watch his head sneaking closer and closer to my throat where it stayed and I could feel a very faint purr.
Who is that cat?! Henry doesn’t purr. Henry doesn’t snuggle. As I am writing this he is draped over my forearms in front of the keyboard. Not sleeping and occasionally putting his paw on my typing fingers, obviously exercising his editorial capacity.
The calming influence of beer
I’ve just realised that I’m doing Henry an injustice. The last entry on this blog was last year and it was about him biting me. But it was just a phase and I guess it’s passed.
What helped? I can’t be sure but he stopped biting around the time when he switched his favourite box. Now his favourite is a Schöfferhofer 24 beer can pack. I won’t tell him that that’s a girly beer, a kind of shanty. Maybe he won’t like the implication and will start again.
I’ve been dethroned
Henry used to snuggle on my hands and arms until they were numb. He used to come to me for food first although my husband fed him just as often. He used to sleep on my side of the bed, right at the edge.
Guess what? This all has changed in the last month or two. It means I sleep in later (ha!) and I really didn’t begrudge my husband the added attention.
Until today when I found them both napping together.
What have his feet got that I haven’t?
Cool tricks I teach Henry
High Five 
Beg 
Roll over 
Stay
Inspired by a cartoon (which I can’t find anymore) which hit home.
Oh, so many things
When Henry more or less ignored the Christmas decorations I thought that he had finally grown up and started his life as a settled cat.
Until I brought out a few twigs and flowers and attached some early Easter ornaments.
He’s not grown up. He is just more of a spring person character.
I have to find a safe(r) place for my spring bouquet, it seems.
Henry 