A Tale of Two Kitties

This is Earl Scooter, a cat who came to us from the Humane Society. He moved in at the age of eight weeks and took over the house as his rightful domain. Earl is not a cuddler. He sees signs of affection as beneath his dignity. He is the king and expects to be treated as such.

This is a picture of our living room in the before condition.

We'll be returning later.

Meet Winston Merlot. Winston arrived in our back yard starving, hidden under the grill and trying to catch a bird from the feeder. He was the skinniest cat I've ever seen. We began to put food out and you know the rest. We eventually got to touch him, then coaxed him in the house and grew to love him as he grew to trust us. When we learned that our home would be torn down one of my first concerns was Winston and what would happen to him. He had grown to depend on us for his food, and I was afraid he'd starve if he went back on his own. He'd spent the winters in our house and was no longer used to the sometimes brutal winters in Kansas City.
I tried to find a good home for the little cat who had so much love to give, but no one wanted him. I couldn't put him in the pound with the thought that he might be put down, and even though I begged the Humane Society they would not take him. My daughter and son-in-law, knowing how much I loved Winston, offered to take him in with their pets. They already owned two dogs and two cats, but willingly invited Winston in to their home. I was so relieved to know he'd be safe and well cared for. Winston, however , was not happy.
He was so timid he couldn't blend with the pets already there, and hid in the basement for months. I couldn't let that sweet little heart live in solitude, so I drug him out and brought him home. We have had some rough patches, but here he is.

Earl has no interest in the salt shaker, but some other cat in the house does.

If the shaker is not put away before bed someone bats it all over the floor,

leaving a white trail of salt in abstract patterns across the carpet.

This is our trailer-sized Christmas tree decorated in (what else)

pink flamingos. A white feather boa is wrapped around the base.

I know what you're thinking------an invitation to disaster, right?

It's not like the cats don't play together.
When the lights go out a party starts at full force.

The poet who wrote "The fog comes in on little cat feet" never met our boys.

It's a feline fiesta, a cross between Bristol Motor Speedway and a cat rodeo.

The cats have so much fun it drives Bella nuts. She tears in and breaks things up 'cause if she's not having fun nobody else is allowed to either.

Yeah, you were right about the disaster, but the question is--- Who dun it?
How'd they push the tree off so it fell backward?

Why'd they leave the feather boa alone?

There is a clue to the perpetrator in the photo.

See the brown furry "tail" on a stick in front of the tree?

It's Earl's favorite toy, and neither of the other two are smart enough to plant evidence.

A criminal often returns to the scene of the crime.

Sadly (for some of us) there were flamingo fatalities.

Earl, smug and satisfied with a job well done.

The tree is back up----------------for now.