Today it’s the turn of our shy little lady. The one who usually slinks away whenever the All-Seeing Eye is brought out for snapshots. Not this time though. No, this time, with her belly shaven and painted a lovely hue of pink because of her ahem-ectomy a week ago, lithe little Frankette struts her stuff…
Ain’t she the diva ?
Other tummies are proudly on display at LisaViolet’s Dairy.
Franky again. He’s so cute about it, it’s hard to resist this camera hog when he starts strutting his stuff. Or was that posing ?
Are there kitties far better endowed in the Cuteness Department ? Check at LisaViolet’s Dairy…
Today’s Tummy Tuesday features one of the Frankensiblings. It’s… <<drum roll>> … FRANKY !!!
Proudly showing his tuffy tummy off. But I wonder whether he will still be doing that so eagerly and easily after next Thursday. Because that’s when he’ll visit the Man In White, together with his sister, in order to have his ahem-ectomy.
For those who really wanted to know the sordid details… I had to photoshop this picture a bit because a certain part of his anatomy was too proudly on display. One of the major reasons he’s going to visit the vet is the fact that his sister too needs her operation and we all know what time of the year it is…
At LisaViolet’s Dairy we have our guaranteed weekly dose of fluffy tummies. Go visit !!
From time to time the Strong Woman Of Flanders, who has to the eternal delight of Grumpy Man produced offspring called The Mistress now 40 years ago, comes to visit the House of Chaos for a few days or a weekend. She likes to read a lot then, and drink a bit, and talk a lot, and smoke a bit. But the House of Chaos is strictly non-smoking and thus she is wont to sit in the Garden of Chaos several times a day -and night- no matter what season it is raging outside and have a quiet yet blissful smoke.
A week ago she was having her nicotine fix late at night when suddenly she came in to ask The Mistress to come out and listen. There was a forlorn voice in the darkness, crying out in distress and anguish. It sounded like a cat and it sounded like it was in big trouble. A quick head-count of the resident felines found us lacking one Hrimnir, and although the hapless voice didn’t sound like Hrimmikins it was always possible it could be him who was in trouble and so the SWOF picked up her coat and went out into the street in order to investigate, leaving The Mistress in the Garden of Chaos calling out to that poor creature in distress and trying to locate where the sound came from. It seemed that when she called Hrimnir’s name the voice would become more urgent. Which fanned The Mistress’ fear that it was her poor kitling out there.
The House of Chaos is located smack in the middle of a row of houses, together with another row of houses behind it it was a former possession of a plant that no longer exists and that used to house the foremen and managers of said plant. Next to that double row of houses is a small park with a huge house in it, former possession of the CEO of that plant that no longer exists. The park has been neglected for some 20 years and only recently the trees and undergrowth have been trimmed again, but the small more-or-less dried-up lake in the middle of the park was still overgrown with reeds and since the territory used to be swamp in the Middle Ages the lake would be a bog. Dangerous territory for a cat.
With every passing minute The Mistress grew more frantic. No sign from the SWOF that she had found the source of the distress-call and no sign of Hrimnir. The other feline denizens would gather with her in the Garden and were looking a bit anxious too. You may say about cats what you want but they do recognize a fellow in trouble and can feel some empathy towards it even if it is a stranger and thus not welcome. It distresses them. They were not at ease. But then a familiar “chirrup” suddenly erupted from the back door, when a curious Hrimnir egressed from it into the Garden and was clearly wondering what the heck was going on with that cat-parliament and The Mistress outside. One fear alleviated, but it still left the unknown cry in the dark to worry about.
A few minutes later the SWOF came home again and said the sound seemed to come from the park. She still feared a cat might be bogged down in the lake and surely it would die out there since it was Winter and although it wasn’t freezing it was cold enough to induce hypothermia – even into a cat and especially at night. But there was nothing we could do. These days you can’t even call the police or fire department anymore for a kitty-rescue without getting fined for the bother. And so we went to sleep with heavy hearts and dark consciences. The next day we would all be gone for two days, having activities planned for the weekend, and we knew there was nothing we could do for the cat: the park was closed and fenced off, we couldn’t reach it even if the owners of that park were home and they weren’t.
Two days later when we were all gathered back at the House of Chaos again the cat was still crying out on top of his impressive lungs.
It’s the stuff to drive you mad: knowing a sentient being is in distress and not knowing what to do about it. But that afternoon, when The Mistress was returning from her part-time work, she saw a neighbour who was walking her dog (friendly woofie that, a friend of Zorro’s) peering intently into the park and I heard people calling. A man and a woman were in the park, banging on food cans, and trying to coax a black cat out of one of the tallest trees in that park. It being black was the reason why the SWOF had not been able to see it that past night. The cat had climbed so high he was actually higher than our own rooftops ! And now he didn’t dare come down, the poor kitling, stuck for more than 3 or 4 days that he was. The people would call and entice but he refused to leave his safe perch, whilst still crying out for all he was worth.
A few hours later The Mistress heard a crash and no more crying. To this day we don’t know what happened but we can guess that the poor feline had weakened enough that it lost its grip on the branch and fell down.
It was a tall tree. And the undergrowth had been cleared. We can only hope that our furry forlorn friend had still the strength to land on its paws.
“Someone’s crying outside Mumkins ! We wantsa hellep ! Can’t we hellep ?”
I’m so sorry kitlings, but alas no help was to be possible from our side. Now go and drown your sorrows in some fun, at the Carnival of the Cats, where happy kitties gather and make merry. Life, as they say, goes on.
Almost Franky has a problem. You see, he’s not Franky. He is a sibling of the Frankensiblings, as is Not Franky, but unlike the latter he’s not been welcomed in or even tolerated by the other feline denizens of the House of Chaos. And it’s not as if he didn’t want to come in, for many a day have we found him wandering in the Garden of Chaos or perched on the roof of the Shed of Chaos, with a melancholy “mew” being emitted by his sad sad little furry face and the desperate want for a warm and comfy shelter radiating from his sparkly moist eyes. More often than not has he been chased away by an idignant Zorro, who is ever keen on making sure everybody knows his place. And, according to Zorro, Almost Franky has no place in the House of Chaos.
Why the name “Almost Franky” ? Well… last Summer, when the Frankensiblings were making their first appearances in and about the Garden of Chaos, two of them were so audacious as to enter the House of Chaos immediately, making a beeline towards the feeding bowls and starting to bunker there. Both these now resident Frankensiblings are called Franky and Frankette because they are … well… quite intrepid, audacious, undertaking, adventurous… in one word: frank. And then there is Not Franky who has been named so for his incredible shyness and Almost Franky who falls in between: he’s been a tad shy in the beginning, is no longer now, and is therefore neither fish nor fowl. He’s banned from the more interesting parts of the premises and he knows it.
But Almost Franky is in trouble now. It’s Winter, albeit a warm and balmy one, it’s horrendously wet out there and we have the vague impression that their original owners no longer allow any of the Frankensiblings in. Franky and Frankette have been living with us for 3 solid months now and not even once have we heard from a neighbour about missing kitlings. Not Franky is so terribly shy he doesn’t come in at all, let alone allow himself to be approached by any simian but Grumpy Man – of all people. Yet Almost Franky, despite being quite intrepid, has not come further than the back door. That was when I accidently let him one morning last week, thinking he was Franky. His reluctance to go one step further than the doorstep, together with Hrimnir looking rather askance at him, and Zorro perking up menacingly from the other door where he was standing, I soon realised that this kitty was not what he seemed to be. Especially not when I noticed the real Franky peeking up from under the pantry cupboard. Oh dear.
Almost Franky is no dumb boy though. He quickly understood that the situation could turn real ugly real fast and so he decided on the spot to leave the beckoning warmth of the House of Chaos and retreat once more to his customary perch on top of the Shed of Chaos, to languish there in perfect misery whilst his siblings cavorted in luxury.
The poor darling.
Grumpy Man has let The Mistress know that enough is enough when she went to fetch little Hrimnir to come live with us as the fourth feline denizen of the House of Chaos. When Franky and Frankette adopted us half a year later he exclaimed once more that there is a limit to the number of cats one house can sustain and that 6 is most definitely it. But now we are faced with the two remaining homeless Frankensiblings, one of which is slowly managing to steal Grumpy Man’s heart… he’s the only simian who can approach and even pet the little bugger and somehow he feels he’s become special to Not Franky.
But Almost Franky ?
Grumpy Man met him one morning in the garden. Thinking it was Franky he picked the kitten up and gave it a cuddle. Only to suddenly find several claws deeply hooked into his face. It wasn’t Franky. It was Almost Franky. Grumpy Man’s instinctive reactions can be quite impressive but are -as ever- rather fast. This time it resulted in one kitling finding himself briefly airborne and one simian angrily dabbing at his bleeding face whilst vowing eternal revenge. And ever since then there’s been a kind of hatred between the twain.
So, we find Almost Franky forlorn and sad at the door every day. It’s been freezing a bit the last days. He can -and apparently does- find a bit of shelter in the Shed of Chaos, which is always open and gives him a place out of the cold winds. I do leave a bit of food outside regularly for the forlorn Frankensiblings so they have at least some sustenance. Under the lean-to it’s at least dry. I think I’ll leave an empty cardboard box out with some linings of discarded clothing too.
I’m sure Almost Franky feels he’s made a big boo-boo recently and would make amends for it. If only Zorro would let him into the House. If only Grumpy Man would let him into his heart.
The real Franky is showing us how much he cares for the plight of his poor benighted sibling.
It’s almost Friday again and that means we can board the Friday Ark. Maybe Almost Franky is welcome there ?