Another 4th of July came and went, which means my cat Harry got a year older. Or, in human terms, four more years older.
I went to Walmart the previous Friday (getting caught in an improbable morning rainstorm, with the chances of rain at 20% that day), and when I went shopping, I made sure to stop in the pet section to get him a gift: a little leopard-printed rope with two circular bows in it. I’ve yet to figure out if the rope was supposed to look that way, which looked a bit phallic to me.
Anyway, when I came home and put the groceries away, and fed Harry his breakfast, I give him his gift, since cats probably don’t have the concept of birthdays. He played with it, and seemed quite amused by it, holding it in his arms, grunting and groaning while he enjoyed his new toy with relish.
With the 4th of July came fireworks, and no, Harry’s not one of those cats who gets frightened by every firecracker. The bigger blasts may startle him a bit, but he generally doesn’t get spooked until 9:00pm or so on the 4th when the “heavyweight” displays go off in our area.
I tell Harry, “They’re all celebrating your birthday, bud.”
I figure the concept of where he lives might be a bit complex for him.