Once upon a time there was a cat named Niccolo Machiavelli.
He was cat in every way and loyal as only a cat can be. He had his share of annoying behaviors such using the cat door to leave but refusing to use it to come back in. He always insisted I open the front door for him.
Like all cats he was a hunter. When some less than cleanly neighbors were evicted all of their roaches spread to the neighboring houses. For several months afterwards I often I came home from work (I worked the night shift then) to hear Mach crunching on cockroaches. I guess it was better than dragging in small birds, mice and lizards and it served to keep my house from becoming infested.
About his only really peculiar behavior was he liked to play in paper bags. I have no idea why. Nevertheless, while he was alive, I brought my groceries home in paper bags whenever possible so he would have a playhouse or whatever is was his feline mind imagined the bags to be.
His end came in the street in front of his home. I don't know how it happened but I found him dead one afternoon. From the available evidence, I am guessing he was hit by a car. I buried him in a paper bag.
I still miss the bastard sometimes.
It was these photos that reminded me of that damned cat.
2 hours ago