Little, fluffy, baby owls. To which Brent responded with “wow, that door needs a scrape and recoat.”
And this old cat. The coolest place is the dark stairwell of an old Gascon farmhouse. “Pull up a chair,” he meowed, “let me tell you some stories.”
by L.J. CURTIS
Lumi is getting acquainted with the farm. He successfully climbs on this large rock. Oh, he is so proud.
Evil Gray shows him how much further one can go. Oh, too bad about the puppy paws. “You suck,” he meows.
Proud Lumi surveys his land from his rock.
Then attempts a rather small hay bale. Good try, boy!
Toddler kicks a ball.
Silly barn cat. Thinks he can come in and lay around when there are mice and vermin to be dealt with. But the fire is on even though it’s not that cold. It’s November and we’re ready for the cold.
A cat watching Brent eat his breakfast sits in the window catching morning sunbeams.
While yes, it’s true the world searches for pictures of cute, gray kittens on the internet. The magic of neural networks does not lie. But what the research does not tell you is that inside each cute, little gray kitten is the moist eye of a cold-blooded killer.
Our veggie garden exhaled a big sigh of relief thanks to GrayCute’s efforts on bunny patrol.
It’s actually not that cold outside. To keep the walls warm, we put the fire on to prepare for any approaching “brrrr.”
Tosca and Bug assume their positions.
