Steve McQueen

Hello, dear readers. I've decided that if I leave things up to the Woman, you might get the impression that I never leave the purple chaise lounge. Yes, I look stunning on the lounge, but that isn't to say that I don't coordinate beautifully with other areas of the house. See how the cork and the cherry cabinets bring out the green in my eyes? I'm damned good looking.

As you may have also gathered, I have hobbies. In my youth, I was quite the hunter. I hunted birds and squirrels, occasionally mice. Mother and I would climb trees and stalk our prey like a pair of velociraptors, she flushing the game and I bringing it down. It was glorious.

I met the Woman half a lifetime ago, and shortly thereafter she made the unilateral decision to force me into captivity, she alleges for my own good. While I considered my adventure with the neighborhood Rottweiler's mouth to be thrilling and invigorating, the Woman saw it as evidence of my poor risk assessment skills.

Alas, I am relegated to the indoors now. My repeated requests for a multiple live finch release into the dining room have been ignored. Sure, I have the dog, but she's hardly sporting game. I stare at her, she quails and moves a few feet away, I advance, and then the Woman steps in and stops the hunt. Dammit, the Woman! Am I allowed no happiness? I try to initiate play with the Woman, but she doesn't see the joy in tangling up in a ball of tussah silk.

This pink pillow is my only entertainment. Gentle readers, have you seen 'The Great Escape'? This little stuffed toy is my tennis ball. I'm the Steve McQueen of my generation. And species.

-- Buddy the Cat


P.S. Thanks for the tip, Steve. -- BtC