Our cats love the smell of my feet. Also the smell of my sandals when I’ve been walking along the beachfront, coming home from the coffee shop, or having gone to the supermarket.
Our cats love the smell of the old rotten wood I’ve brought in for the fireplace.
Our cats love the smell of each other’s butts.
Our cats love to smell lettuce leaves and then chew them.
Our cats love to lounge around the computer till they decide to eat their kibble.
Our cats love to lie on our legs pointed at the screen as we watch an old Chaplin or Bergman film.
Our cats love to chase houseflies but rarely catch them.
Our cats love to try to dodge through the gate and get upstairs to the bedroom.
Our cats love to shred our sofa.
Our cats love to have us say “Sit! Stay!” as we try to get through the gate, and they love to hear the “Good cat” that follows their eventual capitulation.
One cat loves a head-scratch; the other loves a belly-rub (as he’s called “Wool-worm!”)
One cat loves lying on Elizabeth—I know how he feels. The other lies on me.
The cats love fighting each other, then suddenly freezing, then fight, then freeze, fight/freeze—claws retracted and nothing personal.
Our cats go nuts on catnip. They hate the vacuum cleaner and anyone working on the roof. They hate bluejays and the neighbor’s cat named Dinah.
Our cats do not follow Facebook; they’ve never performed a play or written a novel; and they show no interest in learning to touch-type, though they’ll lie on the keyboard.They seem to have learned their names as well as to sit and to stay if there’s nothing better to do. Yet they’re much beloved, they normally use their catpan, and they serve the function of a court fool, while much cheaper to feed.