At Least I Can Take Care of Cats

Comfy.jpg Sometimes I love looking over at Buddy, all cosy and warm on the big, fluffy, snowy-white comforter, on top of my red velvet couch, with snow falling outside, and remembering that before I got him he was living in a shuttered, abandoned beauty parlor in Harlem without heat, and doesn’t he have the life now, and how nice is that?

Here is a picture of Buddy taken moments ago, except he has since jumped off the couch and is now eating. Nom, nom, nom.

It makes me happy that today Buddy is living in what constitutes the lap of luxury for a cat.

Update. Finney in the lap of kitty luxury.

Comfy2.jpg

Stacy Horn

I've written six non-fiction books, the most recent is Damnation Island: Poor, Sick, Mad, and Criminal in 19th-Century New York.

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2 thoughts on “At Least I Can Take Care of Cats

  1. My two cats are City Critters rescues, too. They belonged to a little old lady who collected cats and didn’t have them neutered or spayed, so when the lady died there were 100 cats all related to themselves.

    So my cats went from starving in a collector’s house, to sharing a communal plate of food with two dozen other cats in a foster home. Then I bring them home and they’re totally non-plussed. “You mean I get my very own dish? And I get fed at least twice a day? Oh, wow!”

    Within a week they were standing over my face yelling “Naahhhh!” if I didn’t jump out of bed to feed them first thing in the morning. They learn fast!

  2. Doesn’t it make you feel happy, remembering what they came from? And yeah, they learn fast. I get face-batting, pouncing, meows, knocking things over, etc., if I don’t get up in time.

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