Cletus Holding Court – Photo: L. Weikel

The cold front pushed through as we were finishing up our walk late this afternoon. Or would you consider 5:00 p.m. to be early evening? Either way, as we descended the hill toward home on the last leg of our journey, the wind picked up and shifted dramatically, and the temperature dropped a good 15-20 degrees within moments. It’s plummeted even further since then. Time to batten down the hatches and engage in serious snuggling.

I know; I know. Weather-related posts are inherently boring. But it’s all I can think about. It’s tough to write about anything else when I’m suddenly feeling an overwhelming desire to burrow into a soft furry blanket and read a book.

The puppies are snoring; Tigger and Precious are curled up, perched on the backs of the couch and loveseat, respectively, and obviously immersed in the Dreamtime. Cletus is outside, going out of his way to howl and carry on over his inherent conflict between desiring (and demanding) his FREEDOM and realizing that he doesn’t actually want to spend the evening in the barn (or wherever else it is that he loves to frequent).

He thinks he’s a tomcat – all badass and whatnot – and forgets that he’s Cletus the Pampered (not to mention neutered) Jerk. I’m not about to argue with him. He’s foul.

Brutus and Cletus – Photo: L. Weikel

He’s All That

The way this post has taken a turn toward Cletus reminds me of how I managed to snag a rare photo of him holding court with the pups earlier today. He’s definitely the one who schools them in their naughtiest activities. Sometimes I swear I catch him looking on with an expression of pure evil – I mean joy – especially when we’ve caught the pups engaging in particularly egregious activity.

For all his foul expressions and ways of being, they adore him. Surprisingly, he rarely lashes out at them, even though their enthusiasm can get the better of them fairly often.

It’s especially annoying to me that he’s so forgiving of the pups when he acts like such an unbelievable jerk to me. Every single night he demands to be put out. (This is how I know he loves to fancy himself a cat-about-town.) And every single night he sits under the kitchen chair closest to the door and lunges at me as I go to open it. How he can consider this to be a game is beyond me. He growls and spits. Lunges with claws unsheathed.

And then the next morning he’s my best friend in the whole world. Most of the time, at least. Purring, rubbing his head against my hands, mrrrowing, and demanding to be petted. He’s a psycho.

I know he can (and probably will) shoot me a claw without warning. But the puppies adore him. We all do, in spite of himself. Or is it in spite of ourselves? Either way, I need to go let him in. Even the great cat-about-town wants to hunker down ‘in-house’ tonight.

Wishing you all a warm and cozy weekend.

(T+38)