I believe cats to be spirits come to earth. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through.
Myra, Queen of the House, holding down the newspaper (as usual). The only thing she likes better than lying on stuff on the table is kicking stuff off the table.
The three boys on the bed, where they’re usually to be found. Archie (top), Nero (left), and Harry (right). They get along very well and spend a lot of time playing and chasing each other.
I love cats because I love my home and after a while they become its visible soul.
Nero the kitten. (Next week he goes to the vet to get his naughty bits snipped.)
Another cat? Perhaps. For love there is also a season; its seeds must be resown. But a family cat is not replaceable like a wornout coat or a set of tires. Each new kitten becomes its own cat, and none is repeated. I am four cats old, measuring out my life in friends that have succeeded but not replaced one another.