Sheila has a new love in her life. It made me realize that I don't blog about my cat much.
I feel bad because he is often ignored for those louder more insistent dogs.
Hemingway is deaf, therefore he is pretty quiet and easily overlooked because half the time he doesn't know you're there.
He's not allowed outside but he gets to hang out on the patio from time to time because the fence is so high, his fat ass can't climb it.
His favorite thing to do is lay on the rug in the middle of the patio, in the sun, stretched as far as his blubbery body will go.
I don't care how hot it is outside and this is the gulf coast...in the summer it's Africa hot...he will stay out there for hours.
I'm really sad because I had a couple of pictures of him stretched out there but I must have accidentally deleted them.
However, sometimes I won't let him go outside so he sits by the sliding glass door, staring out longingly at the patio, imagining the warmth of the sun.
Sometimes, he stretches out in the vertical lines of sun that break through the blinds and warm the carpet. Sometimes he finds the strangest things comfortable. I came home one day to find him like this:
I had to watch him for a moment to make sure he was still breathing. When I realized he was, in fact, alive. I grabbed my camera.