sweasel.com

Cat on a hot/cold tin/slate roof.

Hose.

I want heeeem!

Had to make sure you & B were not at the thea-tah tonight, but apparently all is well.

Merry Christmas!!!

Can spot a pigeon peeking over a wall at 100yd. Can’t find the treat you just threw on the floor at his feet.

Cats.

I can haz hi places?

Very handsome cat. What are you feeding him? Can we see this photo in color—please? 🙂

Is that cat-fat (You wouldn’t be spoiling him shamelessly, would you?) or is he just wearing his winter coat? Handsome devil, he is!

Also: Merry Christmas, Weasel!

Maybe Barko will choke on Mooch’s dick on The Big Day, & we can all have a happy New Year.

Eating tinsel can sometimes “end” up being fairly amusing.

Damn, that’s a fine-looking critter. Master of all he surveys, too.

McGoo!!! yer live

(let me correct that) A-hum I rejoice to see you out and about, Mr. NcGoo. May i say, while a surprise, it’s not to be beyond belief you would show up here. (A-hem, Stoaty, p’raps we can take him off the Deadpool list?)

McGyver, out

I like cats, and this here’s a fine looking one. How are the chooks and he getting along now?

Harry the Little Ginger Bastard?

What would Mr Connolly say?

Everyone should have at least one orange tomcat in their life! Mine was named Tyrone.
Mad Jack is a handsome beast!

Old Uncle Louis Mountbatten had a huge ginger Tom. Viscious thing. Chased the maids out of the kitchen and would draw blood.

Killed Germans though.

Growin’ like a weed, he is. I like to say that my late red tabby Arizona came home small enough to fit in my hand, and a month later was the size of the sofa. (Exaggeration? Well, yes, but not by much.)

He’s getting so big! Stoaty, any chance of a link to the color version of that picture so we can see him in all his glory?

All hail Mad Jack! He’s keeping you safe from flying spaghetti monsters, and this is the thanks he gets?

My Christmas wish is to hear Uncle B. rev up the Snark Generator and give his opinion of PM Cameron recently stating he wished to “plead the 5th”. Which, last I heard, was not available to Brits…

A right handsome roof-ornament you have yourselves there, indeed –

We had a ginger tom (paired with a calico female) when I was just a wee lad – took him (and his calico consort) along when we moved to a farm for a few years, where upon he pulled stakes after only about a year and was never seen by us again…perhaps the fact that, as part of living on the farm, our Dad started raising beagles (both to sell, and to hunt with – lovely pups, will chase just ’bout anything, but are particularly fond of running down runny babbits, which helps put them in hunting range. Good on birds, too – ‘specially ducks), and Grandma started raising chickens (for eggs and, eventually, Sunday dinners, of course) and Ol’ “Fluffy” (what can I say? My older sister named him before I was old enough to protest properly…) was ruled-off from stalking the latter livestock, and quite possibly wearied of being eyed with wicked intent by the former breed (I did mention they were hunting-type beagles, yes? No mercy for cats thereabouts, I think…).

Since then, I’ve only had personal acquaintance of two other ginger toms – both housed (some 20 years apart in time) by my sister: The earlier one of the two, named (highly-inappropriately) Sugar, primarily resided behind her living-room sofa, and was a right terror for just about everyone but her, including all three of her children. He eventually was required to become (like the even-earlier gent, Fluffy) an outdoor cat, and, a couple of years later (considerably after a Close Encounter Of The Wrong Kind with an auto fan-belt at start-up – a story for another day…), met a somewhat-regrettable end on the road near their house, precise cause uncertain. The latest one – who was a rather moderate fellow, quite personable and likeable – was named Merlin, and was another “rescue cat”; unfortunately, he was diagnosed earlier this year with diabetes, then had to take the (merciful) Long Walk when he came down with a rather nasty tumor on his head that was screwing up his eyesight and sense of balance, and which the vet sadly pronounced to be essentially inoperable – truly unhappy outcome, a pleasant fellow, indeed. He is definitely missed.

My sister doesn’t think she wants another pet; her “batting average” doesn’t seem to be improving, but rather going the opposite way.

More power to Mad Jack, though, he looks like he’s getting along admirably – as stated, a right good-looking young gent, and he looks like he’s likely panicking every pigeon in the neighborhood.

Gotta say I love the name. Mad Jack has a roguish pirate quality to it. Like he’s going to raise the kitty Jolly Roger and start laying waste to the countryside. 🙂