Garfield and Friends

In the garden with the cats. Sounds like the start to a nursery rhyme. But it's not, it's just where I like to spend me free moments to gather some clarity, bask in the sun or read a good book. Slowly they start coming around, one by one, the cats that is. Today whilst getting ready to go out in the garden to read, Sox pokes his head in the conservatory door to ask if I will come outside to play. I know, I know, don't name them unless your going to keep them. Och aye! I'm not about to keep any of the wee devils but if they would like to visit from time to time, that'll be just fine by me. Animals inspire me. I love to sit and watch them. Sox has arrived this evening for a visit, (back to the name game-- I haven't been verra creative with their nicknames and Sox is just a grey tabby with...you guessed it four white paws. He also has a white patch of fur on his chest). I settle into a chair and give him a pat or two on the head as I read a book and he continues to rub himself around my ankles. He stops short, sits down and looks up at me with those fiercely green eyes of his as if to ask, "is that it? No more scratches behind the ear? No more pats on the head?"

 I go back to my book. Next thing I know, Sox is on the chair I'm resting my feet upon. Still no response from the Human reading the Book. So he moves to the table--at this level he can stare straight at me and demand more attention. So a few more pets, rubs under the chin and good kitty coos. Sox is bored with that, leaps from the table and lies beneath my feet. He spends quite some time there before wandering off through the garden thus ending his visit. And I with my nose in a book, wait for Garfield and Nermal to show up and have a lover's spat in the garden. Garfield, you guessed it- is a big fat orange tabby. Quite frankly, I don't know how he gets over the garden walls with all his fluffiness. He's what I call a "Grumpy Gus". He stands in the middle of the garden path letting no others through. And poor Nermal is a sleek gray tabby who likes to test Garfield limits. O, the kitty drama. Perhaps this is where the writer got his material for the American comic strip..who knows?

What still raises my curiosity, (careful I know curiosity killed the cat), is the amount of cats that just turn up hoping to for a pat or to be invited inside. (I will mention that England, like Hawai'i has no rabies on the island. No fear of that disease here. Which is nice with random cats all about). None are what I call feral but I'm not quite sure if many of them are "owned" (let's be realistic here....even 'owned' cats aren't "owned").  A friend and I were walking to the park and came upon a black cat. In the sun though, this cat had brown and black fur, verra cool coat by the way. Anyway, this kitty just walks right up to us and rubs our legs until we pet him and he has been satisfied that he has made some new friends and strolls off. Now in this same day walking home from the park, we come upon another black cat sitting atop a stone wall. This cat is black. He stands up when we walk by and looks for attention. We name him Frederick, give him a few pats on the head and go home. I just can't get over the randomness of lovely cats in England. My mum and dad had a cat that would come to visit them from time to time letting himself in through the window of their cottage, but that's a story for another time...