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Diagnosis: Batshit
At this point, you've all heard me burble on about the behaviour that sold us on this cat: We watched him dip his paw into a water dish and then lick it dry. Tonight he was doing the same thing again, but it was charming than simply bizarre, for two reasons:
Soon after, I saw him leaping around the kitchen trying to catch something invisible. But later I saw a fly above the counter, so the jury's still out on that one.
- The dish was completely empty.
- It wasn't even a dish, it was a basket.
Soon after, I saw him leaping around the kitchen trying to catch something invisible. But later I saw a fly above the counter, so the jury's still out on that one.
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Maidir leis na cait... you know Pangur Bán, of course. On the Old Irish list we've just been looking at the personal notes left by scribe of the Leabhar Breac (ca. 1410) in the margins of that MS. In one series he writes about his companion (boyfriend?) Domhnall, their kitten, and the robin, including a stanza on raising a kitten up to a cat and then having it rove away. As a cat owner, a Gaeilgeoir, a buachaill bán, and a book wrangler, you might want have a look.
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