Marshmallow Cats

Several readers have commented about Ernest’s eyes in the Halloween post, so I will clarify: their evil glow was merely the reflection of late-night lamplight.

Similar to the eyes of a wild animal caught in the headlights on a dark, deserted highway.

But there’s nothing wild about Ernest. He generally looks like this:

Or this:

That trick of light is the scariest thing about him. He’s three years old, and when he hears a knock on the door, he still runs upstairs and crawls under the bed.

We’re proud of the recent strides he’s made. After hiding from guests for over a year, he’s started prancing downstairs, snuffling shoes, and jumping into the lap of one human per evening. We thought at first he wanted make friends. It finally dawned on us that he always zeroes in on the person sitting in the recliner. That’s my chair. He considers it his chair. I am allowed to sit there, but he wants strangers evicted.

Speaking of scary, the most frightening thing in our house is William in repose. Because this snuggly strawberry blond is a canny creature, sharp and shrewd, possessed of a sly wit and a subtle intellect. William doesn’t sleep. He schemes.

5 thoughts on “Marshmallow Cats

  1. Do you think Sweet William is plotting? What about his spiritual sister, Maggie? They both look so sweet.
    Ernest looks good in repose. Nothing looks so relaxed as a cat.


  2. Ernest specializes in relaxing. Sweet William’s looks are deceiving. He has mischief on his mind. Does Maggie plot, or is she like Ernest, an innocent child-cat?


  3. I am highly allergic to cats … but I love them. Recently I seem to have ‘adopted’ two cats with vastly different personalities. I had noticed a starving cat eating bread I had thrown out for the birds in my yard. So, yes, I started putting out food for him. To my surprise there are two. One is clearly a stray who obviously knew people at some point in her life. The other is feral. They are both already special to me.


    1. I guess there are shy cats just as there are shy children. Or maybe they’re cautious. Or discriminating in their choice of companions. Who knows what’s going on in those devious little brains? Ernest was doing the extend-a-leg thing that day to ensure I didn’t miss anything when I gave him a tummy rub.


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