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I know that I started with an unusual word, but it is the word that describes what happens.

Our oldest kitty has decided that when someone is petting her in a certain area of the house, she will FLUMP unexpectedly. First, we have to be getting ready to go to sleep. Second, we will tell both babies that it is beddy-bye nighty-night time, yes we use a secret code to talk to our cats.

Next, everybody goes into the bedroom. We humans adjust the bedding, with the weight of the cats on the bed of course. They wouldn’t have it any other way. We then pet each baby so they know they are still the rulers in the house. I should have put the world rulers in quotation marks. They each pick the person to say good night to, and this is where the FLUMP comes into play.

When petting each furry person (aka fur-purrson) the petting stroke starts at the nose and goes all the way to the tip of the tail. The oldest cat will then perform her FLUMP. A FLUMP is a fully limp undertaking of a melodramatic plop. AKA F.L.U.M.P. If you stop petting, she will stand up, nose your hand, and when you pet her again - FLUMP. If you ignore her, she will nip or pinch you to get your attention. Did I mention that they think they are the rulers in the house? If we do not perform these services, our toes get chewed on at night. So let the petting services and the FLUMP commence. I guess routine in important to every one in their own way. I will admit that I miss the petting services if I go straight to sleep and don’t take the time out to rub fur. I have my routine, too.

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Hello, my name is MUD.

I was walking and found a white cat paw under the arch of my foot. It was not planned, but it happened. If there is any critter on the face of the Earth that knows how to glare, a cat know how to glare.

I didn’t plan for it to happen, but it did. When I followed the offended fur purrson to apologize, the apology was ignored and she stayed as far from me as possible. I also feel like mud. Her paw is a whole lot smaller than my own clod-hopper (size 10). How do you apologize to a fur purrson when that purrson doesn’t understand English?

Well, I am just going to have to cringe and bear it until she decided to forgive me my trespass. I hope it isn’t long. In the past we have had cats that held grudges for a while. Waking up at night to find toes being chewed on definitely tells us that we did something wrong.

What’s this? I feel a soft white furry body rubbing on my shin. I am forgiven - YIPPEE.

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Can there be something to talk about with pigeons? Yup,While getting our water pump worked on at a friend’s house, I had the opportunity to watch a flock of domestic pigeons in action.

There was this one desperate fellow who wanted a girl friend. He was building a nest in the hopes of attracting a lady of his own. He kept bringing in twigs, sticks, straw, a lot of things. When an attractive lady pigeon would stop by , he would strut and puff out his chest and prance as he walked by and he would follow the hen while fluffing his wings. I felt sorry for the poor little fellow for each lady would ignore him and move away each time. Some of the other pigeons would watch as all of this was happening. A flock of regular doves sat in nearby trees and watched the proceedings for a while, then later flew off.

Last I knew the poor lonely fellow still didn’t have his own lady friend. I even had a chance to see a very small Mexican dove that was 1/3 the size of the gray pigeons. It was very tiny when next to the domestic pigeons. There were some white racing pigeons that looked slick compared to the chunky grays, like comparing a race car to a mini-bus.

There was one fantastic pigeon that was a half-breed of a gray pigeon and a Hungarian racing pigeon. He looked like he had tied on feathers around his ankles, and his toes couldn’t be seen. I wondered how he kept from stumbling with all of the feathers on his feet. All in all, listening to the cooing of the pigeons was very relaxing and peaceful, as I watched them, they were watching me. I guess they couldn’t figure out what I was doing.

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