The tufts of hair scattered about tell me that the cats’ spread out locations on the bed are the result of an uneasy truce.
Max is a cat of extremes. One minute he’s running around the room chasing a fly; the next he’s slinking under the bed, scared by the sight of someone outside the window.
Some days he naps on the very top platform of the cat tree, but today he’s decided to curl up in a box on the floor.
From last weekend’s Tar and Feather Party at Wigle Whiskey:
Toonseum had carton characters on poster board so you could be your favorite feathered friend. My nephew chose Big Bird.