I thought I should let anyone who cares know that Jim, the cat, is doing fine after surviving (not unlike the rest of us) some inconveniences, shall we say, during the recent inclimate weather.



After things had calmed down and the lights were back on, Frank Phillips, who is the tireless area manager for AEP/PSO here in McAlester, called our house to see if — or at least I’m told — the power was back on and if Jim, the cat, was doing OK. Never mind us, the cat is what mattered. (OK, I’m sure Frank asked about the humans at some point in the conversation he had with my brother-in-law, but Jim was certainly mentioned prominently during the call)



Jim, the cat, is like every other cat on the planet: He tolerates humans. He let’s us hang around the house, mainly so we can do his bidding. He lets us know what he wants and when he wants it (which is usually RIGHT NOW) by insistent caterwauling. He is aloof, almost oblivious, to our human machinations until it’s a) time to eat, b) he wants out or, conversely, in, or c) he would like his ears scratched. Around our house, we seem to be OK with this. We do the bidding of Jim, the cat.



We have a dog — Maggie, the Yorkie — and she simply falls all over us. We are the greatest things in all creation and when we pet her, talk to her or even look at her, she is demonstrably grateful. She is, a dog. Jim, the cat, does not ascribe to the same worldview as Maggie, the Yorkie.



So, Jim, the cat, is doing just fine. He’s fat, he sassy, he’s oh so catty and he could care less that our family, or anyone else on the planet, cared enough to ask after him. He, after all, is Jim, the cat.

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