She was unusually affectionate today. I picked her up for a “hug” and she didn’t push away with her front paws (she usually hates being held, but will tolerate it for a brief time). And I started calculating her age, as her birthday is March 15th. She will be fifteen years old. This is that cat who I’ve seen near death twice. I did not think she’d outlive Tigger 2. He was healthy; she’s always been sickly. Obviously, I was wrong. I guess she has seven more lives to go. Meantime, Tig 3.0 will be four on February 18th. Yes, it’s been that long. Hey, I celebrated my third anniversary in this condo in September, and in a few weeks, will have been working at Job in Northern VA for five years, as a contractor and staffer.

You know, three of the five things I’ve mentioned in this post came about at least in part due to this blog. I got my condo partly as a result of my job, which I got via a tip from a friend who became one from reading my blog. And I found Tig 3.0 through the advice of a friend at work, who got two Maine Coon cats from Wendy’s Feline Friends and suggested I look there for a Maine Coon kitten. Blogs are amazing. I wonder what else lies in store for me via this blog?

This photo captures the color of his eyes better than most. They really are nearly the same shade as his coat. Color-coordinated, that’s my boy.

I have come to the conclusion that if, God forbid, I die alone and unnoticed for a few days, that Tig won’t eat me. He’ll just yowl at me to wake up and pay attention to him every few hours.

There seems to be no continuing stinkbomb issue (there’s a reason I call him my little pooper), so I believe he may be allowed back into my room tonight. Where he will wake me up by sleeping on my feet or yowling in my ear when he’s decided I’ve slept long enough.

I don’t care. It was so quiet without Tig running back and forth across the hallway, making his row-rowr sounds while I brush my teeth. There was no running up and down the stairs, and no Tig hugs in the middle of the workday because he woke up from a nap and wanted a hug.

Here’s my goofball in a typical goofball sleep pose.

Don’t be swayed by the cute, little-boy look on Tig’s face. He was lying on the other side of the screen pawing at Gracie, trying to make her play. That’s a tactic that has not succeeded in three years. See Gracie’s left paw? That’s for smacking Tig. And every time Tig sticks his paw through, he chirrups. Nope. Doesn’t work. Gracie is old and set in her ways, and will not play with him. Awwww.

She is actually mewing, not yawning. She wanted me to pet her. I wanted her to sit in the sun long enough for me to take a picture. Gracie won.

Here.

Elisson sent me the spatula as a gift. It was Sarah‘s idea to see how Tig Hulk would look. (She took the picture, too.)

Tig smash!

Yes, it’s a lazy Saturday in the Yourish household. After morning services, that is.

Arrr! Talk like a pirate day!