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As promised, more kitty pics.

First, Miss Gracie, in one of her rare goofball moments.

I actually missed her during one of her funniest, yet strangest habits. She loves chlorine-based cleansers. And I mean loves. They affect her like catnip. If I used a bleach-based cleanser, which I did this morning to clean the garbage can (and then to kill some ants in my kitchen, thus putting the scent on the kitchen floor), she will stop, sniff the place, and then make mad, passionate love to it. She will rub and rub and rub her face on the area, and then roll around in bliss. I really do have one of the strangest cats in existence.

Next: Where’s Tig?

I needed to find Tig before leaving the house the other day. This is a new spot. All of a sudden, he’s sleeping with Gracie under my bed. That’s her regular spot to the left, and he’s decided to take over the right-hand side.

Two days ago, I found him in his usual position—his bottom half underneath something. Alas, I didn’t get the camera in time, but I’m sure I’ll have another chance at getting Tig’s butt hanging out from under the bed. Or the bureau. Or the shower curtain. Really, he’s not very good at hiding, but he sure must think he is.

He also has a tendency to use very hard items for pillows. I’ll have those at a future date.

It’s 93 degrees in Richmond today, and so we have: Cat pictures.

First, we have Tig3.0 looking his best to imitate Tig 2, who was also known as The Independent Republic of Tiggerstan. Sorry, Tig3, but you’ve got a way to go.

Next, we have Gracie all curled up and happily asleep, while Tig comes to take a look and wonder if she’ll uncurl.

Nope.

One year ago today (technically tomorrow, but it was a Friday 52 weeks ago), I brought home my new orange goofball.

Here’s how he looked on the way home:

Here’s Mr. Tig today (literally):

He’s been a major huggy bear today. And that’s even before I give him his treat (he’s getting tuna later). And in honor of Tigger Day, we have a cascade of photos of my third orange goofball in a row.

He eats bugs.

He strikes silly poses.

He walks on tables.

He lies in the sun.

He pulls the afghan off my chair and sleeps on it.

He lies in wait to play with the broom. (Yes, really.)

He goes where he’s not allowed.

He is: Tig3.0. What a wonderful year this has been.

Time to relax with some cat pictures.

First, Miss Gracie in the sun:

Gracie spends the morning following the sun from my office to my bedroom. She is even more beautiful when highlighted by Sol.

Next, Tig in a venture onto the deck.

He really likes it out there now and wants to go out every time I open the door. (I really do have to post those movies I took of him in the snow, too.) By the way, although he is a bit chubby, the bottom two inches is all fur. His fur is much longer than Tig 2’s.

And now, let us relax the rest of the day.

Gracie is twelve years old today. Here she is last week, in her usual morning routine—sunning herself in my office.

She got tunafish. So did Tig.

A perfect addition to my EATAPETA dinner of chicken.

Happy birthday, Sweetness. May you have many, many more.

Tig 3.0 is an indoor cat. I want it that way, because outdoor cats tend to have much shorter lifespans. But I’ve been letting him out on the deck lately (supervised), and tonight, I wanted to see how he’d react to the snow. First I took him to the front door and held him while I stepped outside. He tried to watch every single snowflake coming down. I expect he was trying to decide which one to go after first. Then I opened the door to the deck. Witness:

Now he wants to go back out. I think I shall let him.

Update: And there went the power, three times in two minutes. I’m going to bed, and bringing an extra quilt upstairs with me. Not that I expect to sleep through a blackout. I have APC’s that beep.

Tig turned a year old today. And got a birthday treat:

I’ve had him for ten months.

It’s been a good ten months.

A year ago today, I lost my second Tig. It was a very, very sad day.

And while I do miss many things about Tig 2—like his boxer’s nose, and his mrowr when I asked “Do you want a snug?” followed by the deep, throaty purr as I picked him up for a hug (he was purring in the post linked above, nearly his last-ever snug), well, I got over it. Because I have this goofball.

Who's that Tig behind the curtain?

I finally put up a shower curtain in the upstairs bathroom. Tig’s been hiding behind it and leaping out at me ever since.

Tig in the office

I turn around while I’m working in my office, and that’s one of the things I see fairly frequently—Tig (or Gracie) in the sleeping bag behind me. Or I have my goofball under my chair, or sleeping on the shelf of the desk, or jumping into my lap, something that Tig 2 rarely did. Tig 3.0 still snuggles into my left shoulder, except now he’s big enough to stand up on his hind legs and drop his head down on my shoulder. But he won’t consider it a snug until I physically pick him up and his butt is resting on my arm, all fourteen pounds of him.

A year later, there’s a new Tig. Door closes, door opens, just like the saying goes. A few weeks after I was told she never gets orange Maine Coon kittens, Wendy had two of them. And now I have one. Tig is gone. Long live Tig.

One more new picture of Gracie, to go with the new picture of Tig from the other day.

Princess Gracie deigns to say hello.

You know, I really did try not to let Tig3.0 get fat. Really. I tried.

And although I failed, I think it’s safe to say that he hasn’t quite reached the width of Tig the Previous.

You know, a search on “belly” brings back 37 posts in WordPress alone. I shudder to think how many there are since the inception of my blog in 2001.

February has turned into quite the milestone month. It will be a year for Tig in five days. This month marks my second anniversary with Company in Northern Virginia, which has been the best thing to happen to me in a very long time (and may I once again say thank you to Janet and Chris for pushing me to meet with their boss, who is now my boss). And I realized a few days ago that it is the 22nd anniversary of the day I opened my BBS to the public. Seven years of BBSing, a long period of GEnie and online networks, and now nearly eight years of blogging. I sense a pattern here.

The year I got Tig the Second and Gracie, February was a dark, dark month. I lost my first Tig near the end of January, and was catless until April. I still remember the sight of the tips of those little orange ears showing as Tig 2 clawed his way up my blanket into bed. Miss Gracie, who has been timid since I first got her, had to be assisted into bed at first. (Sorry, I have no kitten pictures of them. That was pre-digital camera days.)

Gracie, too, has a beautiful belly. It’s not as pretty as this anymore. Her episode with IBD (and subsequent mistreatment by ex-vet) caused her to lick it bare so much that her fur has never properly grown back. But she’s still a beauty.

I used to hate February. Not so much anymore. This morning, I noticed that for the first time since autumn, I had to close the blinds of the window next to my desk, because the office is once more bathed in morning light so bright I can’t see my monitor.

There may have been snow on the ground yesterday, but here in Richmond, spring is near.

Because we could all use more kitty pictures.

First, Tig under the bed. He’s not hiding. He’s playing. This picture has just about the most accurate portrayal of his eye color. They’re a deep gold.

Next we have our nightly ritual, er, except, it was morning. Our daily ritual, then. It’s called “Nom on Mom.” Tig attacks me through my bathrobe. I know they tell you not to let your cats bite as kittens, because then they’ll keep on doing it—but he has no one else to play with. Gracie will play kitty tag at most. And Tig understands “Ow”, “Gentle,” and “No!”

I don’t have bite wounds from him. Only scratches. And those are accidental. (And indicators that his claws need clipping.)

Yeah, those are some toofies. Tig absolutely adores chasing your feet or hands under the covers. Thanks, Mom.

Last, Gracie, doing what she does best: Looking dignfied.

She is once again in my office, which I think is becoming her office. She is very, very happy in our new home. Hell, she has three different bathroom sinks to leap on for petting, and so many sunny spots she doesn’t know which to choose.

We like owning our own home. It’s been four months, and we’re still rather in shock that we no longer live in someone else’s building.

I caught this one a few weeks ago and forgot that I wanted to put it up.

Every once in a while, I catch that perfect picture. That’s his actual eye color: Golden, just like his predecessor. Tig the First had blue eyes for a very long time, then they turned gold as well. There’s something about a golden-eyed orange boy, and as the sun hits my bedroom in the late morning, I open the blinds so the cats can lie in it. This picture has a good shot of his mane, which is coming in nicely, but isn’t full-grown by far. But then, Tig’s only ten months old. (And thirteen pounds!) His nose is even pinker in person.

Since it’s a holiday for most of us, we’re going to take a break for some cat pictures.

First, we have Tig on the sofa, in his standard position, with that beautiful, fluffy tail hanging down.

Next, Miss Gracie, taking a yawn and a stretch near one of her favorite places: The railing near my office. She’s taken to sleeping near me while I work.

Over to Mr. Tig, who is helping me make the bed.

He helps me do that a lot, and then I have to dig him out from under the covers.

Gracie doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. She waits until the bed is made, then luxuriates in it.

After a while, Tig gets over wanting to dig under the blankets and we get a two bedcat picture.

Last, but not least, this is a sight I see pretty much every day: Tig lying in wait for me on the steps. He wants me to throw a toy up or down, or if that doesn’t happen, he’s perfectly fine trying to grab my leg as I step over him. I think he’s looking at a twist-tie in this picture.

I see I really have been remiss in putting up cat pictures. These ought to hold even Rahel for a while.