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Our Strange Aminals - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
Our Strange Aminals
We're done for: we've named it. The pigeon's name is Albert. It may add an -a on the end once duly sexed, but it seems to work. He's been hanging around all day, and toodles all the way to the back of the basket we've set up under the birdfeeders in hopes of bringing him inside. Reports are that he is building trust and we may well have him inside by next week. (There's a decorative birdcage in our dining room, which we'll roll into the kids' room to ease the four-legged stress.) He'll then need a vet visit, a microchip check, and more lost bird research.

It's always been clear: They choose Us.


Sometimes, not as swimmingly as other times.

Our most annoying companion is the middle-child female cat. She's the diva, the clawer and scratcher, she who the others get along with the least, and, for the two-plus years since Tasha the dog died, the mother of her dish towels.

I've wanted to shoot this schtick for months now, and finally got a decent sample of it today:

We get this morning and night, daily. That distinct MEOW from down the hall, ending with the deposit of (usually) a cloth napkin or kitchen linen at the end of the hall or on a bedroom floor. Biggest she's ever hauled is a wadded-up dirty dress shirt from the downstairs laundry area.

God only knows what Albert's gonna make of this.
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