Sockie is our household cat. He presence is somewhat of a mystery to me and he is of dubious age since every time I ask my husband how old he is, the answer is 17. He's been 17 years old for like three years now and I am beginning to think Socks might be the reincarnation of Joan Rivers, someone who never ages. Be that as it may, Socks is our gray striped tiger cat, whose boney frame is tell tale of his advanced age. Not to mention the fact that 95% if the time he can be found sleeping the other 5% is spent eating or using the litter box.
As of late, we have noticed Socks doesn't do much. Not that he ever did. An indoor cat, Socks has never shown any interest in going outside, prefers a sunny spot on the floor or next to the window. And, he has only caught like 3 mice in his lifetime, so obviously he wasn't kept around for his tenacious mousing skills. Those belonged to his late companion Sadie, who you will hear more about later. Socks is just our companion, though if you asked him, he is gracing us with his presence and that it is our honor to take care of him and provide him with tasty treats, a oversized poofy comforter to curl up on, a spotlessly clean litter box and food at his silent command. I say silent because seldom does any sound come out when Socks meows. It's just this open mouthed mocking that we sometimes add sound to, in a flip and playful way, which perturbs him even more.
Late the other night, my husband was somewhat awakened by a vast amount of thrashing and tossing about. The sound came from our master bathroom. Not being fully awake, the thought crossed my husbands mind that this was probably it. Socks was done for. The last death throws of his beloved kitty. He could not bring himself to get up to investigate.
Come morning, on his way to the bathroom, my husband dodged what appeared to possibly be a shadowy kitty deposit on the floor, ominously left right in his path. But, when he flipped on the light, low and behold, Socks had killed a mouse. He left it as a gift for my husband, right next to the bathroom door.
Despite advanced age, lack of skills or experience, and our obvious lack of confidence in him, Socks continues to surprise us with his ability to silently dispatch mice with all the grace of a cat half his age and twice his strength. Way to go, Sockie!
In the beginning... Yes, you read that right. This is the beginning. The beginning of a blog where I intend to regale you with all the high jinx your pets are up to when they are under my care.
The stories you are about to hear are true... though possibly biased as only they can be from my side of the tail or tale, so to speak. So, pull up a chair, sit back and brace yourself for heroic, comedic, outlandish, poignant and often heart wrenching tales of the awesome pets I call my 'Angel's with Furry Souls'.