Svenn most certainly lives up to that quote. He seems to have some sort of a dramatic moment 2 billion times a day. Yesterday I watched as a mother bird practically rode him up the length of our driveway. I was in the kitchen frying cod or I’d have rescued him like I normally do. I’m afraid he was on his own and the bird rode him like a Brama bull.
He’s the sort of cat that’ll show up after a wild night with his fur all ruffled and an occasional scratch or other boo boo. He’s a complete chicken but seems to get into everything.
Oh, and there was the time he tried to woo a raccoon. I was watching one of our two resident raccoons, Agatha Christie (William Shakespeare’s her baby daddy) eating cat food one night. I see my guy Svenn approaching, so I watch, convinced he’ll do something Svennish.
He didn’t disappoint.
The other cats, upon seeing a raccoon or possum eating, will avoid them – when they see a skunk, they head for higher ground. They aren’t necessarily afraid of anything but skunks – but they have enough sense to avoid any and all contact.
And then there’s Svenn.
He saddles up next to Agatha and meows in her ear. She arches her back and lowers her head angrily (of course, by now, I’m halfway out the door ready to protect my not-so-bright baby). Does Svenn realize he made a mistake and take off? Nah. Not his style. He drops and rolls onto his back. Agatha and I look at one another, then at him – he’s blissfully rolling back and forth, giving her a come hither look.
She goes back to eating, I go back inside, and Svenn continues to roll. She finishes and leaves without giving him a second look. Still rolling.
I Love that cat. He puts a big old country smile on every single day.