We got Pippa after Lucy, the greatest cat in the world, died at only a few months old. Pippa is named after a statue of a character in a poem called Pippa by Robert Browning. Pippa (the character) goes on a walk through the woods and encourages everyone. And I needed encouragement. Only Pippa (the cat), she’s not so encouraging.
What can I say, I love her anyway. Charlie gets more camera time. Mostly because he’s always sleeping in an absurdly cute, otter-like position. Pippa’s mostly on the move or in a bad mood, so she doesn’t get a lot of pictures.
So in the spirit of cat parent equality and because I’m mad at Charlie right now because he keeps pooping in the garage, here is a glimpse at Pippa’s routine.
BTW – Many of these are phone pictures and aren’t exactly up to my normal quality standards.
Pippa Cuddles into Things
Like the bed.
And things she’s not allowed to touch. Like my curtains.
Run for your lives, all you broken cardboard coat hangers..and other such villains.
Pippa Achieves the Perfect Temperature
Pippa Protects Her Turf
Pippa Tolerates Charlie
Doesn’t she look happy? She really is his protector. It’s actually quite sweet. I have to give Charlie baths with the bathroom door closed because if I don’t, Pippa comes in and bites my legs in an attempt to free him.
Pippa, Blogging Assistant
Need to do an important photo shoot? Are ribbons involved? If so, Pippa’s your gal. She’s always ready to help with the blog.
Pippa Engages in Trench Warfare
This is her reenacting one of World War I’s lesser-known battles, Battle of Shirt Drawer.
Cat or secret agent? Now she’s looking innocent while waiting for the right moment to attack. Or fall asleep. One of the two.
Last winter Pippa discovered the roof. It’s her own little kitty playground since Charlie isn’t athletic enough to jump from the fence to the roof. Or the ground to the fence. Charlie is firmly planted on the ground.
I always know she’s found something good when I hear footsteps racing above my head.
Pippa Hunts Birds
It was all fun and games until she actually caught one. She didn’t know what to do with it and just carried it around the yard for an hour. Don’t worry, it was dead. I checked. Now the birds have a vendetta. They dive bomb and harass her. Just like Alfred Hitchcock predicted, the hunter has become the hunted.
So that’s Pippa’s life of leisure. Are you as jealous of it as I am?