Cats Sleep Anywhere

They run around like the wild things they are, up and down the cat trees, through the alley behind the stairs, tearing up the rugs and hopping up and down on the bed. Then a switch goes off and perfect repose happens. It is about 16 degrees out and the wind is howling as winter circles around to slap us hard and make us think we only imagined the too hot days of summer picking an endless harvest of tomatoes. We'll all be dreaming by our winter fires soon as the apartment next door will be finished today complete with a gas fireplace for the elders, done up in stone. Uncle Sid should appreciate it too, as he is getting on seven.



The Harpster does this unbearably cute move where he reaches his paws out and then crosses them over his head as he stretches luxuriously.



Ramona curls up into a perfect zen circle on one of her favorite spots. The first photo I took didn't happen when the camera battery died, so this time, when I came back, she is well aware that I am pointing the clicky thing at her.



But she doesn't mind. It is to be expected that I need to take many photos of her royal beauty.



And this of course, as long time Caturday readers will remember, is Fergus the Beloved at about eight weeks old, sleeping in the tiny basket I carried him around in because he couldn't bear to be left alone. I adored the way his lower jaw would jut out as he slept, giving hin a charming profile, like a wise oriental sage.