Beautiful, Wooley!

Earlier today during the early races at Gulfstream the momcat Queen Bubble Belly (aka Mister Mittens) came up to the man cave and began to rub up my legs as I sat behind my desk scoping the PPs and races. It became annoying as I knew she wanted to eat again.

Then she rolls on her back next to my chair and I reach down to rub her belly (a no-no). In a heartbeat she latches onto my left wrist with all four paws and as I stare into her glaring green eyes I can sense upon my fair Irish skin a whole lot of claws being extended slowly. They are sharp but are not out to strike or puncture me. She just wants to eat again and knows I'm the food guy. I get some fingers to pet the side of her head and the claws are yanked back. I get up and she races downstairs to her feed dish. I lay out lunch.

One would think that as an old fart off the streets of Brooklyn and Queens and married 38 years and an old fart Marine rifleman that met young girls upon three different continents in about 6 different countries that I could go better with a young female formally-feral street cat.

Nope.