Wordless week

It's turning out to be one of THOSE weeks, but in the immortal words of Sting, Kingston says:

I'll be watching you.

Comes a cat

We had our first Kingston sighting of the season this afternoon.

Much to Ben's dismay, I should probably add.

Actually, I've seen Kingston from a distance the last couple of weeks.

But today was his First Official Visit. He was poking around in our next-door-neighbors' flower bed when I skidded around the corner ready to do battle with the front yard.

He padded over immediately for a meet-and-greet, scratch on the head and roll on our warm (make that tepid) concrete driveway. After several thwarted attempts to climb into our car, he said, "Fine. What. EVER." and went back to his examination of the neighbors' ornamental grasses.

Enter Ben.

Ben had seen him from the backyard and came screaming up the neighbors' driveway to re-enforce his perceived territorial imperative. Or so Ben thought.

Kingston pirouetted. I expected to see him dash to feline safety. Instead, he charged Ben.

Whoa.

Poor Ben. He has a long, sad history with domineering (and, in some cases, crazy) cats. He beat a hasty, and somewhat undignified, to retreat to our front yard with a small gray cat in tow.

With that, The K-ster took a break and sunbathed.

Umm. Could you do something about this?
Sorry, bud. I'm just the photographer.

Avoid. Eye. Contact. At. All. Cost.
Repeat.
Avoid. Eye. Contact.

I totally CANNOT believe this.

Suitably warmed up, Kingston wanted to play.

He wanted to play "I'm a Cat. You're a Mouse." Ben did not like this game.

Hey, big guy. That was fun. How 'bout a head butt?

It was a long aftern00n for Ben.

Thank goodness for The Blue Blankie.

N.I.M.B.Y.

Kingston, the neighbor’s cat, has decided he loves our backyard. He visits regularly now – especially if he hears us rustling around outside. I think he likes our company.

Of course, what’s not to love about our backyard if you’re a cat? Tall grasses, flowers and shrubs create a mysterious cat-size jungle perfect for prowling – and napping. Well-stocked birdfeeders mean a potentially endless supply of avian hors d’oeuvres. And then there’s Ben, our dog. Kingston has decided he also likes Ben.

I’m afraid Ben does not reciprocate the feeling. He was "raised" by cats as a puppy and, to this day, is chronically suspicious of our feline friends. Toby, the older cat, was a relentless bully well into his later years, bushwhacking Ben whenever he could – whether coming through a door or nosing around the flower beds. And although our other cat, KC, was kinder and gentler, he was also, for lack of a better word, a nut job, treating Ben as a four-legged rubbing post, much to the dog’s consternation – and embarrassment.

Yesterday, Kingston kicked off his daily visit by investigating a limb of the cherry tree we had just cut down. Spotting Ben, he stalked through the branches with great stealth and concentration, popping out from among the leaves like a furry little jack-in-the-box. Ben was not amused.

The little cat then hunkered down companionably (or so he thought) and stared, unblinking, at Ben. Poor Ben. He tried every which way to avoid Kingston’s Sphinx-like scrutiny.

Ultimately, he flopped his head on the lawn, closed his eyes and dozed off in the sun, dreaming of better (and hopefully cat-free) days to come.

Until Kingston spotted his food and water dishes

Ben's eyes popped open as the young cat sauntered past him and down the walk toward the dishes. Incredulous at this breach in backyard (and canine) etiquette, Ben scrambled to his feet and followed Kingston (at a safe distance, mind you) to the patio where the pair then engaged in an intense staring contest over the kibble and H2O.

The stand-off ended with a low guttural "Woof!" emerging from deep within Ben's Inner Wolf.

Kinston was not impressed.

He blinked once and

with a deprecating "Silly-dog-everyone-knows-cats-don't-eat-kibble" glance over his shoulder

silently slipped back into the garden.

This is. . .

Quinn Parker (and her lovely Gramma Shelley)

Quinn is our new grand-niece who we met last weekend. She's lovely. A girl with a beautiful smile who already knows how to let people know when she. is. not. amused.

I like that in a woman.

Kingston

Kingston is our neighbor's cat. I first made his acquaintance about a month ago as he was perched precariously on a branch in our cherry tree trying to snag birds feeding on our seed socks. An enterprising feline, that Kingston.

He's a house cat in that if there's a house, he's its cat. We learned that a couple of weeks ago as he nonchalantly strolled through the kitchen from the dining room as the WPS and I looked on, only slightly perplexed since we assumed with the passing of our two cats, Toby and KC, we were living in cat-free zone.

I think you'll be hearing more about Kingston.

Alladin

No, he's not 25 to 30 pounds. Hardly. But he's the only pumpkin I have after watching this plant throw off easily 50 blossoms this summer. Welcome to Bermtopia. Now we're in a race to see if he'll color up in time for Halloween.

Go, Alladin.

Autumn

I admit it. It's here.