Henry the Ate-th

My Henry cat is about 22 pounds of solid fluff.  When I pick him up it's  like lifting a foam mattress with legs.
In summer, in order to get him in the house for night, picking him up is the only other option after spraying him with a water mist.  He loves his freedom, the evening cool, grasshoppers, and the safety of night from our neighbor's new labrador retriever.
Finding a cat after dark is a daunting task, but I have found most of Henry's and Gracie's hiding places.  If he's not hiding behind the boulevard cypress in the back yard, chances are he's in the garage rafters sitting on the upraised garage door.  Because he is such a challenging cat to bring home at night, and our clashes are less than pleasant, Gracie usually beats a path to the back door and skids across the floor.  Sometimes she is so fast I fail to see her.
It is so embarrassing to be calling the cat in only to discover she's been on the living room furniture bathing for the past forty minutes.
Cats rule.  They certainly do.

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