Pogo Enlivened

It is Pogo’s thirteenth birthday and we celebrate it at Almost Pi with a shared scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream.  Pogo, of course, is my rather large black cat, a handsome tuxedo who travels back and forth with me to Point Reyes from San Francisco. 

As we now spend far more time here over the summer, Pogo is getting more comfortable with his second home.  He has literally come out of his closet – the large hallway chamber that houses the heater beside which he typically snuggles – and even pads outside routinely.  I have learned to leave a little opening between the sliding glass doors so he can poke about, but he likes it even better when the front door is open too, allowing him a choice of ingress and egress and the apparent delight of infinite looping. 

He has learned his boundary conditions, never venturing outside the perimeter of the cedar fence.  He digs under the parsley and slips under the deck, safe from raptors but able to observe the horses and the deer, the birds and the butterflies, the grass and lavender fluttering in the wind.  I have yet to see him go after a gopher, which is just as well.