Mid-eastern sundays and blue mondays.

Today was a sunday and like most sundays the cats are taking it even more easy than usual, if that's possible. They behave rather like a mid-eastern sultan or sheik, at the most making small body posture adjustments now and then while occupying pretty much the same geografical area all day long, be it a pillow, a chair, a cooler piece of floor or the juicy part of a window ledge. And food will be served of course, by a silent and obedient staff, specially trained to rush in with fresh supplies of cat biscuits on the slightest demand. To add a little spice to the drowsy atmosphere, we've aired some oriental tunes, culled from the tube, israeli and arab music and what's in between. We can warmly recommend Natacha Atlas, a belgian artist of mainly arabic descent, a most talented lady. We learned to like her when we played GTA on our PSP, i.e., a long time ago, but she's still going strong, so don't hesitate to check her out and may your monday be white.

No more beating around the bush, mate!

It was in the early evening hours of a glorious spring day in May. The sun was still hanging out, busy washing the streets with it's mostly symbolic yet beautiful glow, while the shadows from poles and trees were cutting ever deeper crevices in the sea of light. For some time now, Norsky had been preparing for his evening stroll, turning a few times around his tail,  erecting its splash of long hair high in the air like a a magician flashing a deck of cards, and rubbing his body against a sofa or a table leg, amassing as it were the necessary courage to leave the house through the cat flap opening. It was always a momentous step for him, leaving his secure womb-like condition inside and crossing the boundaries into the unknown. No more beating around the bush, mate - he growled to himself before leaping in a rather wanting Jeté into the cool air of evening adventure.


  

The lap of the month

I've just been chosen the lap of the month by a majority of the cats (four out of seven). It all started while Mary went away to Scotland and the cats were on the lookout for substitute laps to settle on, mine being the most affordable in the neighborhood. So that was basically it. Yet, even well after Mary's return to Vrensted and subsequent to waned jet-lag and culture shock, the trend continues, according to some observers even gaining further momentum. Especially Bonnie is breaking new ground and all ground rules of decorum. She seizes any opportunity to jump my lap, which is especially distressing while I'm eating. She will settle there for as long as possible, sometimes snooze and sometimes just smile enigmatically with her eyes closed and only reluctantly will she let go of her position and well, possession. I'm left to wonder what's so damn gratifying about my lap and with no answer forthcoming. Wimbelina and Aerial are more infrequent lap guests, while Norsky will only demean himself to nuzzle his snout against it, so he may not really count as a full blown lap lounger. But to be true,yos - it's not all bad to be the lap of the month, there are moments of quiet contentment and other moments of blissful unity of man and beast on the couch in Vrensted. Even if Sodomy never quite was our thing. 

The Norsky ridden bed

If you ever decide to come to Vrensted (with flowers in your hair), don't forget to ask for Norsky. You won't be needing to do a lot of searching, nine outta ten he'll be lying on my bed. In fact, calling it my bed is something of a misnomer by now, seeing that he's spending more time in it than me. Not only do I find him there when I come home in the late afternoon, he's also doing time there during the nighttime, curling himself up comfortably on this or that spot of his fancy. Diligently and without fail he'll wake me up every morning at 3.30, to ensure I get to work on time. He will Cris's-cross over my body and lick my arm or any other exposed body part with his richly moist tongue. On the other hand, he is less meticulous in regards to what he'll bring with him from the outside to dump on the bed, as it happens a plethora of sundry bits and pieces commonly known as dirt. But aside from these minor snags, we get along just fine, he is the most clever cat I've ever seen, the William James Sidis of cats. It won't surprise me to find someday a golden toe written treatise on how to induce insomnia in humans composed by him under the duvet, no no, not one bit. It's to be reckoned with.    

The names of the cats

The cats are now pretty much at home here, we installed a cat flap in the back door last week, and some of them have learned to use it, so they can come and go as they please, but some are too timid and prefer to either stay home altogether or to be let out the old fashioned way.
They all have names, of course, Mary even won a name giving contest on facebook, so here goes:
Aerial - the oldest of the pack, called so because he was very athletic once, could jump around like a bird. Now he's a fat boy.
Norsky  - the next in line age wise, is a norwegian forest cat. Really intelligent fellow, you feel like having long conversations with him about lofty matters such as philosophy and art.
Bonnie - the mother of the three mentioned below, previously called alien girl because she was undernourished and had protruding eyes, but she is now a true eye candy, Bonnie means beautiful in scots.
Wimbelina - because she's so soft and dainty.
Naomi - black, slim cat, sticks up for herself, named after top model Naomi Campbell.
Joely pants- named after moi, because when wee, he only slept and ate, had no curiosity whatsoever. Now he looks like an otter, very big, very gray, fearful, and he is more sliding and slipping away than walking, very much like an otter.
Basil - named after Basil Brush, from the Basil Brush tv show (watch it on Youtube), a wee norwegian forest cat with an impressive fox like tail,  who in other ways and from certain angles reminds one of a fuzzy rug.