I fed the cats a great dinner this evening and even came back at them with some $7.99-a-pound sliced ham between races from a top-shelf Deli while I was getting my ass kicked at the Mountain and Turfway Park.

Shiloh and her brother Trouble will take food from a human hand but the formerly feral momcat Mister Mittens balks. She wants her food laid out so that can sniff it and sample it and maybe get into it while checking things out over her shoulder. She sees her son and daughter eat out of my hand but she will rarely take part.

Anyway, around midnight Small Sweet Babycakes (Shiloh) and her brother Trouble are gone for the night in my wife's bed.



The momcat Mister Mittens comes upstairs and starts making her moves up against my leg at the desk while flashing those beautiful emerald-green eyes. She goes archy-back and her tail is straight up - she's trying to attract a male (me) like she did when she was an unspayed feline street slut. She wants to eat again. I can rub her up and pet her and her teeth stay in her head and her claws stay in the paws. I chased her away and she crashed in a cat bed in the living room.



Jeez, I'm easy but even after some beers in me I'm not laying out cat dinners after midnight.