...well, a surge of one at least, as here I am dropping by to admire my handywork and to wonder if Fritz really doesn't have any better pictures of himself to post.
Actually, there was a good new photograph of Fritz taken just the other day, so to help him out, here it is:
It should be a busy weekend here: the sun is shinning, feeders' flu is vanquished, many exciting sporting events to monitor.
If we have time for some music, then it will be to listen to
My Name is Buddy, courtesy of Mr Ry Cooder. A feline Woody Guthrie, what an excellent combination!
I was going to be given the same name as Ernest Shackelton's cat. However, one who feeds me discovered that this cat was called "Mrs Chippy." This was never really going to work for me, although it seems "she" was a "he" anyway. I'm told Mrs Chippy (pictured above) wasn't Ernest's cat, albeit he was technically (and ultimately all too practically), under his command. Whilst Mrs Chippy may have been happily resigned to the name, as a fellow Tom Cat from a rather tougher neighbourhood, it didn't work for me. Trust me, it would't fly in Harlem.
So, Ernest I am. Both Mr Shackelton and Mrs Chippy embarked on the same adventure, and either would have been worthy namesakes. Mrs Chippy had a diary, this blog is mine.
If you have the time you can read this and start to learn more about Mr Shackelton and Mrs Chippy's story.
One who feeds me went to the same school as Ernest Shackleton, hence this pre-occupation.
I now live in an apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with my mate Fritz and the two feeders, one English and one not.
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