Ginger Girl Revisited

 

Our spicy little kitty cat has many different sides to her. I didn’t have the time or space to elaborate any further in my last blog, so here are some of her other traits. As she gets comfortable with a domesticated blissful life here versus living in the wild, she has determined that the sunshine is something that is very essential to her wellbeing, especially at naptime.

Occasionally, she noticed that there is a great deal of strong sunshine going through the French doors of our family room at specific times. One day I happened upon her highness, comfortably sound asleep and carefully situated in a divine spot on the rug for maximum absorption of the sunlight and minimal shade. Ginger is quite the perfectionist and when she likes something she expects it whenever she looks for it (hmmm…sounds like yours truly). The other morning she came into the area where the sun’s glinting rays occur on some sunny afternoons. She stared intently at the rug and then looked at me with a confused expression. She obviously wanted to take another nap there and was confounded by the lack of sun or shadows. So almost shrugging her shoulders, she turned around and exited the room.

A little later I took a few funny shots of her sleeping in the very direct sun that must have quenched her desire for light and warmth. She was leaning on a silver birch tree with her upper body but had her legs spread apart in a very risqué pose, very undignified, hence no photo shown here. But even when she's fast asleep, she’s always alert for the hint of any prey or interloper in the area. She is always on guard, pricking up her ears, even while she sleeps. So the following day after eating some of John’s cream cake treat, I found her in the nearby frog pond area, studying the fish that are getting quite big now. Ah, an afternoon snack seemed to be inevitable. To convince her to leave that place, I had to just about dance a jig, whistle Dixie and sing a song, but in time Ginger came out of there as a lioness, the queen of our jungle. I would venture to guess that she is the best hunter (or is it huntress?), on this property. Nothing goes by her, except the occasional slightly thick son of hers, Domino, who is always still seeking his mother. But now that he’s grown and much larger than she is, Ginger avoids him whenever she can. He is, after all is said and done, a formidable opponent that harasses her on occasion to get her attention like the good panther he has turned into. Both of them would probably survive without my coddling and cuddling and feeding. Speaking of the latter I do make Ginger girl a fried egg with runny yolk, almost every day. I was doing that for my barn cat, Barney, but after she disappeared, Ginger decided to try one of my breakfast meals, and decided that she too would like an egg of her own. So call me crazy cat lady for I certainly deserve that moniker and wear it with pride. As I see it, life is too damn short and love has no boundaries. Perhaps my vet wouldn’t agree that eggs are good for felines but then, he’s not here at breakfast time. Her coat is lustrous and her brain outsmarts me at every turn. I’m not sure if that’s from the eggs, the wee mice or the cooked chicken she prefers over cat food. So I think we’re okay with this regime. Enough said. MeOW.