Traditional and contemporary Celtic crosses mingle in this collection of ovals and circles on gifts for all seasons. We have colors for every decor and theme, and more are added in weekly.
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My cat sings. I swear it.
This evening, as I was in here in the office working on a few little designs for the upcoming weekend's posting, I heard a soft whirring sound from the other room. Not purring, not meowing in the traditional sense. Whirring. I stood up to investigate. When I rounded the corner to where I could see into the living room, I spotted Chatterbox perched up on the dining room table, staring into a shadowy recess.
A rather large miller moth had escaped to the darkness, and Chatterbox was singing up at it as if to entice it from the safety of its perch. The moth danced outward a few times, circling far overhead. Chatterbox watched with the wary eyes of a trained hunter following its prey through the tangles of the jungles, then leaped three feet into the air, swatting at the elusive beast. It escaped, and both resumed their positions of wary observation.
I watched from the doorway, doing my best not to startle either hunter nor prey. From this vantage point, I could see the moth clearly and had a pretty fair view of Chatterbox's back. The whirring commenced yet again. Definitely the cat. She whirred; the moth moved slightly. She stopped and the moth stopped. Remarkable and impressive.
I backed away quietly and returned to my office, ears tuned for the periodic whirring. After about ten minutes I was rewarded with a loud crash and thud as something from the table bit the dust. Chatterbox raced in at just under the speed of light, dashing from the living room, through the office and into 'her' room at the back of the house.
I found no signs of the moth, though careful examination of the dining room table did reveal a rather disturbing evidence of wing dust.
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