My cats have the habit of infuriating and befuddling me with their sometimes inexplicable behavior. Shannon, for instance, has the habit of sitting in front of me on the kitchen counter when I am attempting to read the morning paper, eat a bite of breakfast, or talk to a client on the phone. He will push his face into whatever I am doing and lay his huge paw on my arm and *grip* it with his formidable claws. Then he will push and shove with his mug, meowing and purring all the time, until I drop whatever I am doing and try to read his mind.

I offer him food. He sniffs it and walks away. A drink of milk laced with water--same reaction. Plain water--a couple of laps and he's finished. My son says, "He just wants attention, Ma," but when I offer to scratch his ears, he bats my hand away with those huge meathooks he calls paws. Just when I am at wits' end with him, he pulls some outrageously dangerous stunt, causing me to remember how very dear he is to me.

I think I've mentioned his favorite ledge in previous articles. This is a 6" X 8" beam that runs the length of our upstairs loft. The beam passes from the loft across a six-foot span toward the exterior wall, and is a good 10-12 feet above the lower floor, which is paved with Spanish Bomanite tile. Shannon used to perform heart-stopping acrobatics by leaping from the beam to a stereo speaker atop a tall bookcase (about a 6 foot leap.) As he's approaching 16 years now, and a little weak in the hind quarters, he now longer attempts those gymnastics. Even going out onto the beam is hazardous, as he has to circumvent an 8 X 8 supporting post, then squeeze under a railing about 8 inches above the floor of the beam.

The other night we noticed Shannon just as he was attempting to jump from the beam back across to the floor of the loft. As he is none too stable, we knew such a feat would be nigh impossible. My husband was standing on the back of the sofa below, trying to coax him to go back the way he came; I was on the stair landing, trying foolishly to place a 2 x 4 ramp kitty-corner for him to walk across, when he stubbornly attempted the leap, crashing to the floor below. Miraculously, with that huge expanse of tile below him, he landed on a thick sofa pillow that Asa had apparently knocked to the floor. My husband and I watched helplessly, horrified, as he landed SPLAT! on his stomach, with all four legs sprawled, much like a sky-diver, or a flying squirrel. (Don't believe what you read about cats always landing on their feet.) I rushed downstairs, expecting to find hideously broken bones, or at least internal injuries, but the darn cat got up and sauntered away as if this were part of his daily routine.

Now, the big problem is how to prevent him from accessing the beam and attempting to recreate his gynmastics. This darn cat leads a charmed life, but he doesn't have many of them left.

Writer's Note: Shannon left us for the Rainbow Bridge on July 13, 2001, at the ripe old age of nineteen. He had a wonderful life and taught us much about life and love. Shannon took being a cat very seriously, you see, and these older articles are the legacy from my faithful "GuideCat."