These very impressive cats live with mab in Moscow and at her dacha.  I asked her in the last post to show us pictures, if possible.

Do I have pictures of my cats….what a question.  My cats are not as unbelievably adorable as The Muntz (and no creature on earth is more adorable than Vesla, charging down the hill, ears flapping wildly), but…

Both of them come from my Moscow pet food store. At night people drop off kittens, puppies, sick animals and strays, and the store takes them in, fixes them up, and lets them roam about and sleep on the merchandise until a customer adopts them.

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I don’t know what Rosie is. For awhile I thought she was a Norwegian Forest Cat — please confirm or deny — (Heavens, I don’t know… Well, there’s one that lives around about here, but I don’t know what their distinguishing characteristics are when they aren’t living in a Norwegian forest.  She looks very elegant in her tupperware, and I’ll hazard a guess that she is –AJP) but she’s probably just a mix. She is tiny, afraid of strangers, but a phenomenal hunter. She spends her summer at the dacha killing things — mostly mice, moles and voles (brought to me in bed, of course). She has a penchant for small spaces.

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Here we have the same dive-bombing, 100-decibel buzzing musky toes as you have, so I’ve got screens up everywhere. Alas, the cats like to punch through them so they can climb in the windows. This picture is Trixie half-in and half-out of my study window. And before you say it — she’s not fat, she’s fluffy. Well, that’s not true. She’s both. But one has one’s pride.

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