There is no mistaking the change in season if you are a part of my household. Not because of the dripping-like-a-faucet nose or fire red eyes that overtake me. Or because of the green carpets that visit us outside or the splashes of the green family emerging on tree branches or the painting of tulip petals around the neighborhood. Nor is it the warm(er) weather or the sun-filled sky–or the days that turn longer than the nights.
Rather, it’s when as soon as the sun rises the purring motor finds home in our sleeping ears. And the day is passed by constant whining and wishing of cat meows at any open window, door, or escape to the outside air. The annoying tapping in anticipation of the door opening. And finally the elation of my gray cat when he finally gets outside, and is able to graze on the overgrown grass begging to be cut for the first time of the year.
Yes. Finally, fresh air. It’s an obvious expectation as soon as the snow starts to melt and the sky rolls over from the dank dusky grays of winter to the blues and pinks of summer. As March rolls around, my gray cat gets a bad case of cabin-fever. And who can blame him? If my gray Ashton cat was human, I joke, he’d definitely be a hippy. A naturalist–one of those people that you admire because of their ability to be so true to themselves and not care about what others think, while leading a totally cool and unique lifestyle. That’s my cat.
Totally cool. Totally fresh. Totally unique. And totally LOVES GRASS (and being outside).
Don’t worry animal lovers and cat haters; he is neutered, and ALWAYS supervised outdoors.
(Who could deny that face?)
Ashton loves grass…