Follow-me Nora

A few walks ago, I made friends with a little black and white cat on Agricola. Let's call her Nora. If she's a he, then he would be Nordberg. But Nora it is for now.

Tonight, Nora followed my friend and I all the way home. She meowed like a yodeler by the time she'd followed me all the way to my street.

It was sad, because it's cold outside tonight, and she's so far from her home. I couldn't take her inside because maybe she'd like it and never go back home to her mum.

Go home, Nora. Go home!

Star of the show

There have not been too many new cats around lately. I saw Wallace a few times last week. He's meek and mild as ever. He always seems kind of sad to me. I want to take him home, give him a bath, and feed him high quality cat food. I saw an orange cat that might have been Duke, but I'm not sure. If he wasn't, I would have named him Harvard and told the long story of how he assumed the pseudonym when his owners moved from Boston to Halifax, much against Harvard's will and to his chagrin. You see, Harvard was well on his way to receiving one of the highest orders of education in kittydom, the Masters of Mousing and Being Cute (M.MBC), until he was forced to leave. He was atteneing the lesser-known Cat College, which occupies a small corner of the Harvard campus in Cambridge. In spite of the high concentration of human higher learning institutions in Halifax, there are presently no feline equivalents one might find in larger centres.

Anyway, Nina (shown above) is still cute as ever, and I am happy to post yet another picture of her. She's discovered the top of the kitchen table, where she often jumps up to watch me eat or drink my coffee. She also has adapted a strange habit of dragging old rags and dryer lint from the wastebin to the edge of her poop box.

Napoleon (no picture)

I met a cat named Napoleon (his name for real), who was reclining on Quinpool Road near Robie Street. To those who don't know Halifax, this is a busy area with no private house frontages. I suspect Napoleon may be a castaway, but it's hard to say. Anyway, he and I made good friends, and he followed me (by walking ahead of me as though he didn't care that I was leaving). Just when I thought he'd veered off into the dark, I tripped on something—Napoleon, who was apparently trying to stop me from keeping on. I gave him one more friendly pat and walked on.

Napoleon has short black hair with a white spot on his neck under his chin, and a white belly.

Larry

I had to sneak this shot because the owner was on the other side of this window. She probably saw me taking the shot, but I didn't care, because I'm long overdue for a cat post. Larry, who is likely a girl, but nonetheless looks like a Larry to me (maybe it's short for Larissa), saw me getting ready to take the shot and curiously walked over to me from the far side of the window. Found on Maynard by Cogswell.

Duke

Here's Duke. He might be any of the orange cats in the 'hood, but his face seems unfamiliar to me. So Duke it is. He's a real handsome feline, but he's a bit on the skittish side. I coaxed him from under the Saturn, but when my lens made a whirr sound, he sauntered away, across the street.

I never mentioned how much I love the way cats scuttle across streets, their long bodies holding almost still while their four little chopstick legs move like scissors to propel them swiftly to the other side. The kitty-scuttle is just another reason why I am coo-coo for kitty-cats.

Logan

Here is Logan. I thought his real name would be on his name tag, but no. He was just a nice cat, on the driveway of a house at Cogswell and Creighton. There seem to be two kinds of cats in this world: cats who like meeting passers-by and cats who don't. Logan is of the first kind.

Window Cat on Maynard

It's an inadequate shot, I know, but here is one of two furry cats I see in this window on Maynard Street. They are very contented cats and seem to enjoy this perch. Whenever I go by to take a photo, however, they are not there—or their owners are home as is indicated by the sounds of their voices coming from within. It would be a bit awkward to take a photo of their window while they are in there.

I suppose I'll have to start looking elsewhere for neighbourhood kitties—I seem to have exhausted my supply here for now.

Nina: Spongepaw

This is Nina, who lives at my house. I think she's mine, but she might be Marie-Hélène's, who placed Nina under my care when she moved back to Québec—and who may come back to take her home. I hope not.

Here is one of the cute little monkey things that Nina does (see picture). If there is a little jar or cup of water, and if she's thirsty, she doesn't let the fact that her head wouldn't fit into the opening stop her. She simply dips her furry paw in the water like a sponge and laps it up from there! It's so cute, except when she does it with my dirty paint/ink water.

Sampson?

I saw this guy on Maynard Street, and I think he might be Charley's Sampson. He was so nice and friendly; when I squatted down to call him over, he meowed and trotted over and again, and we became good friends whilst bonding over a hearty scruff-scratch.

Update: Charley speculates that this couldn't be Sampson. I've decided that this guy's name is Harris. Harris Bonaventure.