I don't know what's better: being purred to sleep by the rumbling motor that
is Brandy, or being awakened by the rumbling motor that is Brandy.

She's grown into a huge cat, easily 14 pounds, with huge paws and tail, and
a purr that can be measured on the Richter scale. When she joins me in bed
and lies there purring, I just zonk out.

But the mornings are something else, for she not only brings her big purr
into bed, she gers in your face with it, literally. This morning I was
awakened by her thunder-purr and her tongue all over my nose. She'll walk on
me and Louie by turns, sticking her head in our hands for petting, licking
us and purring as if it were going out of style. I've come to depend on it.
Mankind could never improve on such an alarm clock.

The purr-language of our four babies is remarkably different. You'd never
know Roxie to purr; it's so soft and gentle, you have to feel it. She won't
let us hold her - I can't blame her, as she came out of a cat-collector
house and likes her space - but she'll lie on the floor and be petted
forever, and purr like angels' breath.

Odessa is capricious in purr-talk. She must be in the mood for attention,
but when she wants it she'll purr like mad. When we catch her just going to
nap and pet her, she'll let out a little Roxie-type purr, just to show us
she's paying attention back.

Stosh, the macho man, ain't all that macho. He wants his hug when I get home
from work, and he'll let his guard down and make a deep rumble in that big
chest of his. And a few seconds later, he'll jump down and get Brandy into a
wrestling match just to show what a man he is.

Blessed be,
Baha

--

Three thousand years ago,
cats were deified in ancient Egypt.
To this day, they have not forgotten.