Home again, again

My dad's cat Snoopy, curled up in HIS recliner with his favorite toy on his favorite rug.

Yes, it is his recliner. Hey, the cat has his own room! But he's not spoiled.

Just back from spending a month with my old man. While there, I got new easier-to -negotiate stairs to his front door installed, replaced his lift chair, got home health care arranged, paid off his hospital bills, took him to the dentist for a replacement crown that my brother Bill financed, to the eye-doctor for new glasses, and hooked him up to Contact Life-Line. With tweaking, these arrangements should allow him to live relatively comfortably in his own home with his cat Snoopy for some time, I hope.

And the arrangements WILL BE TWEAKED if my sister has anything to do with them, and she will. But that's all right. I hoped the arrangements would make her life a little easier too. She and Dad need to thrash them out together. They do not need to include me in the tweaking- I am alternately 750 and 2,000 miles away from them.

The month went quickly and Dad and I got along quite well, as we always do. We cohabitate well, which is a blessing. His cat Snoopy and I, however, do not.

Snoopy hates me. He's not fond of women in general, an attitude I am sure he picked up from my dad, but he LOATHES me. My daughter Kelly was able to get him to tolerate her and even play with her. Before she left, Snoopy was even letting her pet him, albeit in that surly condescending sneering way many cats have toward contact with humans. Me, he bit.

Repeatedly.

He also hissed, spit, scratched and slapped.

What a guy. Here are some pictures of the little shit. Enjoy.

Snoopy, draped along the back of Dad's chair.

Snoopy, playing nicely with Kelly.

Snoopy, drinking my water.