String Theory

What is it about cats and string?  The other night, one of our cats ate the string off a wand toy (at least I think it was eaten; the bits left attached to the stick and the feather were a lot shorter than the string had been, and we could find no sign of the rest of it).  I suspect Coco Puff because she had been chewing on it and I put it where I thought she wouldn't find it.  Fred would be another possible suspect since he has a history of eating strange things (and the worst he's ever gotten out of it was gas!), but he was outside with me, Finn, and his Auntie Di at the time we think it happened.  Nobody is showing any signs of distress, however, so I'm hoping it was digestible.  We are still watching for bits of red string to come out one end or the other.  As a precaution, we have put all the other feather-on-a-string toys in the hall closet, where the cats can't get at them.

Still, none of them had ever shown inclination to eat the string before.  Oh, sure, sometimes a cat will bite through the string in order to get the feather off and then strut about the house carrying her "prize", but they usually leave the string alone after that.  I have learned, though, that no ball of yarn is safe when Fred is around, so I keep my knitting firmly zipped up when I'm not working on it.  He's almost as creative with it as Tikan was.  Tikan was my first cat as an adult, and I still remember the first time Di left her crochet out overnight.  The next morning, the dining room looked like a macrame project.

Lesson learned, however.  Never leave string (or equivalent) out unattended, no matter how disinterested the cats may appear at the time.

Heat Wave

It has been Code Orange and too hot to breathe here in Northern Virginia for the past week or so.  I think it's been rougher on my boys, though, than me.  They like to go outside, but when it's this hot and the air quality is this poor, I don't like to take them out -- especially Finn with his respiratory problems.  It was relatively cool on Saturday morning, so I took Finn out in the front yard when Diane went to work, but he didn't stay out long; it was simply too hot for him.  Unfortunately, with the wonders of air conditioning, they don't believe me when I tell them how hot it is until I do something like open the balcony door to fill the bird feeder or water the plants.  They head for the balcony, but stop at the doorway and give me dirty looks as if to say, "what kind of trickery is this?"  But when one of us comes home from work, they all come to the door and try to get out into the hall.  In between, I can frequently find one or another of them sitting by the front door, looking up at me with big eyes and crying to get out.  Or I'll hear a funny noise at the door and see Wabble hanging off the door handle trying to get it open (see "Wabble Opens Doors").