I was snapping photos of The Kids the other day when I tried to get some respectable close-ups of Vazra as he lay on the bed.  I kept getting closer and closer to him while changing positions, and all in hopes of capturing one or two nice images with up-close depth and character in them.

I’ll be doggoned if all of them turned out looking like crap on a stale cracker.

Well, except for this one.  There’s something about the look he’s giving, something that has the pungent aroma of an aristocrat looking down his nose at a proletarian who’s gotten a wee bit too close.  You can almost hear him saying “Get away from me!”

The cat seems the incarnation of everything soft and silky and velvety, without a sharp edge in his composition, a dreamer whose philosophy is sleep and let sleep.

— H. H. Munro

[Vazra]

I promise I didn’t mess up his hair before I snapped this photo.  Vazra had just settled down on the bed when I looked up, saw him, and snapped a photo.  How was I to know he’d come out looking so disheveled?

Keep in mind he’s one very bouffant cat.  All he has to do is lie down and stand right back up to have some unsightly mess take shape in his fur.  That’s typical for Persians, I know, but it’s also entertaining—until I remember how often I have to brush him to alleviate knots and tons of shedding.

The weather ’round these here parts has been pretty much all clouds all the time.  So when a bit of sunshine visited us a few days ago, Vazra, like the rest of us, soaked up as much of it as could be found.

Of course, he was enjoying a blanket of warmth on his face when I came up behind him and pestered him for a pose or two.  As you can see from the look on his face, I promptly backed away and found another cat to bother.

Cats are dangerous companions for writers because cat watching is a near-perfect method of writing avoidance.

— Dan Greenburg

[Vazra helping Daddy burn a little time in the late afternoon sun]