And Jil Came Tumbling After: Friends.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Friends.

A lot of times they look suspicious. Guilty, or ashamed. But then again, their's is not a typical relationship.

See, Kittums (he's the one on the right) was raised by a dog, my old dog Beau. And when poor Beauregard passed on to wait for me on the Rainbow Bridge, Kittums was distraught. Then we bought a high energy plant destroyer and named him Patton (he's the one without the spots and stripes). They became fast friends.

The other cats we had at the time, Vito and Orange Julius (RIP Jules), weren't as keen on making doggy friends, but Kittums had been around the doggy block, so to speak, and was utterly unfazed by being pursued, nipped, harrassed, barked at, attacked and chased upstairs. After all, he is a Mau, and if there's one thing that doesn't faze a Mau, it's physical violence (just ask our friend Barb).

So, you know, they bonded. The other cats weren't into Patton or, quite frankly, Kittums (he is my cat, so he and I were both foreigners when I married Todd, moved into his house, took over the bathroom that had a tub and brought my cat). So add ostracism to the bloodlust that bonded these two furballs.

So happy, so peaceful, so serene....

Of course, Patton is a pretty smart guy, and when I got bored taking 832578 photos of these two just lying there looking at me like I had interrupted a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, all I had to do was stand up and say "Get Kittums!"

Alex takes a moment from playing ball to watch the spectacle. Kittums yowled the whole time, Patton gruff-growled, but notice how the two never stop the game. Kittums lolled about like a Roman senator while Patton feinted and parried.