Frontporchistan's population is transient, therefore constantly changing. Three years ago, there were two tortoise shell beasties amid the Black Angus. The next year, one Holstein appeared, and shortly thereafter, there were five Holsteins, and the original one vanished. That same summer, I'd occasionally see a huge butterball, a custard cup of a yellow flabby tabby -- my neighbor and I named him Ole Olafson (hey, what else does one name a gorgeous giant blond? Dolph was already taken).
Ole, though, never actually came up on the porch when anybody else was around.
This year is different.
This year, Ole is leaner, grimier, grittier, and, it appears, just a tad more tolerant of that crazy lady with the bucket of kibble and the hairbrush. He's staying around to be fussed over (not exactly graciously, but we can't have everything. Yet.)
I think he's in love...
Got a craving to see more fuzzy love? Go to Modulator, for Friday Ark #142. Be sure also to visit the Carnival of the Cats, this coming Sunday to be hosted by The Scratching Post.