Spring madness

Reading E's rant about hormone-drunk birds' attacking her house made me think happily about the dear boys, whose behavior is amazingly decorous for three-year-old male cats. They don't fight; they rarely speak; they walk in single-file to the door when we tell them it's time to go out... You get the picture. But they aren't wind-up cats; once in a while they surprise us.

Last Fall, we turned our compost pile and now have another 170 sq. ft. of vegetable garden. (We don't turn the pile very often, obviously!) The boys were happy to have a new, larger litterbox until we covered it with old alfalfa. But when they noticed great dingy poufs of aged wool we'd picked up with the hay... Oh, joy!

They roll; they root; they loll on their backs, clutching a tattered wad, in ecstatic trances.




I guess, sometimes they are just little boys who need their loveys.

Pink snow!