Life With A Hambone

Harry is a champ at sleeping.
I will be the first to admit I spoil Harry a bit. He gets his way a bit too often, and gets a bit pouty at times. 

When I can’t give him attention at times, he howls at me. 

There are times he’s worth the fuss. Sometimes when he’s trying to coax me, he chirps at me, changing his pitch as if he is saying, “Hey bud, help me out here.”

Then, he occasionally says “Ah roo-roo” to me, as I think I’ve documented before here. Is he trying to tell me he loves me?

But more likely, I’m reading something into things that’s not there. None the less, “Hambone” is a thrill to be around. 

A Word From The ASPCA

It’s a slightly foggy morning where I live here in Florida. I’m waiting a couple of hours for the threat to die down completely before I take Harry to the local Petco for his quarterly nail trimming. 

Speaking of the devil…

I tend to watch Fox News if I’m at home during the day, and they sometimes run those ads for the ASPCA. There must be some philosophy that they have that those ads have to make everyone feel bad if they don’t own a pet or something

It’s always soft violin music, close ups of sad pets. I’m not saying that there are pet population problems in parts of the country. It’s logical it exists. 

I’m just saying they could make their ads a happier place. Show the happiness of pet ownership as opposed to the sadness of not being an owner. 

Next week, I will have owned Har for two years, taking care of him on and off since 2010. Generally, he improves my daily mood, making me feel better about myself. There are days he tries my patience, but you have to take the good with the bad in all of life’s elements. 

Not everyone can own a pet. If you can’t, that’s life I guess. No need to make everyone cry their eyes out over a commercial. 

Harry On The Pounce


I was playing with Harry this morning, and all of sudden, he saw my arm as a piece of steak and started attacking it, crashing his small body into my limb and attacking it like a competitive eater.

I yelped, “UHHH!  AHHH!  Harry, NOOO!” He attacked with such zest, I had to smack him one to get him off of me.

A few minutes later, marks started to appear on my arm.  Off to the bathroom to apply Neosporin and peroxide.

He does this occasionally. Most of the time he’s fine, but there’s that one time in 100 where he thinks he’s a tiger. The odd thing is he’ll cry a bit while he does it. Maybe he realizes the remorse he has attacking is friend…me?

Harry always has had a bit of feral cat in him, but I thought in the last week or so we had bonded better than we ever had before. Then, this happens.  Oh well, back to the drawing board.

Harry Has A Drinking Problem

Harry taking an afternoon snooze one day…

I hate to admit this online, but my cat has a drinking problem. No, not THAT kind of drinking problem…like there’s an Alcoholics Anonymous for cats.

If I sit by Harry with a bottle of water, he immediately goes to work sniffing and licking the condensation on it when I get it out of the refrigerator. On Monday, he sat on my hand as I sat on the back (indoor) porch area, sniffing away. I guess his natural curiosity was piqued.

But you know what they say, right? That thing about curiosity killing cats? Hope that never happens to Harry. He’s a good guy, or he tries to be.

Harry’s Gift


For those of you new to my blog, I have a pet cat named Harry. I babysat for him going back to 2010, and then my landlord’s wife couldn’t take care of him anymore at the end of 2014, and asked me to. I declined at first, but when I was told that once in the care of the ASPCA they’d likely put him down (why kill a six year old cat?), I took care of him full-time starting in January of 2015.

When I’m at home, he’s always around me. We always get along well, but on Saturday, there was a sign that I’ve won his love.

He meowed at me constantly this one muggy July morning. Usually, if he should vomit and I’m not aware of it, he gets my attention by going to wherever I am. If I’m napping, he’ll jump on the bed and head butt my forearm with his forehead. But this time, inside of vomit, he brought me a present in the form of either a comatose or dead lizard.

I thanked Harry for the present as if it were the winning ticket of the Florida Lottery, quickly picked up the immobile lizard (I was 99% sure it was dead, though I saw no marks of mutilation or being squashed), and placed it gently on the front porch near some bushes.

Yep, we’re getting along just fine.

My Cat Is Older Than I Am


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.