I had the loveliest evening with my house panther

After dinner, I had a bunch of dishes and some canning to do. This made the kitchen the warmest and most humid room in the house. The dishes were done, the canner was steaming and rattling away and Fast Eddie just sat on the folded towel on the island, doing his best impression of a bread loaf. (I was going to need that towel for the hot jars later, but whatever.)

I was sitting at the island with a nice mug of English tea with a good jolt of Irish whiskey. Listening to Butch Thompson on the cd, reminding me of how we used to tease my mom by calling it her 'cathouse piano'. She never could read music, but could play anything. Twelve bar blues with a walking base, boogie woogie, you name it. I'm sure Thompson is better, but I still hear some of her riffs in his stuff. It was so warm, calm, peaceful...you could actually forget that this cat came to us a half-feral kitten.

Then I got out the knitting and he went all Gollum on me. Wool is now, has always been and will always be, his Precious. It's not just the yarn or the ball - he just doesn't respond that way to cotton or other fibers.

I keep telling DH that someday I'm going to have a normal cat. Just as soon as I figure out what that is and where to get one.