It’s time for the real deal. A cat that actually has claws. Move over Bruce. There’s a new king of the jungle (or at least west Texas mesquite scrub).

This is Lynx rufus, commonly known as the bobcat. Last week, I was out shooting pictures of prairie dogs at our local state park. One of the little turds poked his head up out of his hole and started yapping like a French poodle. Now this both confused and annoyed me because I’d been there for 30 minutes, and he hadn’t really protested my presence until just now. Little did I know he wasn’t protesting me at all.

I looked up to see a real cat walking out of the woods onto the edge of the prairie dog town. All I could think at the moment was don’t screw it up. Get the pictures. Though the light wasn’t perfect and the cat was a little distant, I sure was glad to have my camera ready.

It’s been a while since I put up a picture of The Bruce. He was recently caught showing his dominance over all the apartment, belting out a manly roar. (Okay, it might have been a yawn).

One of the joys of having a cat is knowing they’ve just come from the litter box when they hop up on the couch and want your affection. At best it’s a dusty smell. At worst, well… you know what I mean.

In her deeply appreciated attempts to watch the bottom line, my wife signed up to test kitty litter. It aint cheap after all, and what coud be the harm in getting 10 pounds of free kitty litter?

While it works well enough, it’s scented, like perfume or potpourri. This is just no good. If the man’s been in the crapper, having his paws and fur smell like the ladies section in Dillards just isn’t appealing. In fact, it’s kind of sickening. The sweet, pleasant smell of poopy paws.

First it was the artsy bowls. Now scented litter. I fear what’s left of The Bruce’s manhood is under assault.

Well I’ve only been gone three weeks, and already things are falling apart back home. It seems my wife wanted to replace The Bruce’s food and water bowls, as the old stainless steel dishes weren’t so stainless anymore and were starting to rust.

Well, this is all fine and good. I’m all for the royal treatment for the world’s best cat. But without my supervision, I fear her choice of bowls is an insult to Bruce’s manly sensibilities.

I’m so sorry Bruce. Had I been around, I would have made sure you acquired something more befitting a cat of your stature. Something with little metal spikes or at least a picture of a lady Persian in a suggestive pose.

Look at the bright side, they could have been pink.

My how time doesn’t matter when you live alone in the mountains. I didn’t even realize today was Friday.

Here’s a nice picture of The Bruce going psycho on a towel that I’m wiggling. One of the frustrating things about taking pictures of Bruce is that his eyes are huge and the flash always produces red eye. In this picture however, it just adds to the effect.

I don’t know what it is, but family members and weird people that stop by (is that redundant?) seem to love my cat. It’s the ears. Except for other Scottish Fold owners, aint nobody’s cat got cooler ears than The Bruce. Okay, whoever ended up with this cat does, but that’s just a freak of nature.

For those that don’t know, my cat The Bruce is half Scottish Fold and half Siamese. As my wife likes to put it, someone’s show cat was defiled.

It’s also been a while since The Bruce has graced the blog, so I thought I would provide a nice little writeup.

Anybody that has a cat knows they’re creatures of habit, and The Bruce is no exception. Every morning at around 6am, he meets my wife at the bedroom door (he gets locked out at night) eager for company. Coffee and breakfast in hand, my wife and The Bruce catch up on world affairs, watching the news from the couch.

With enthusiam that makes any father’s heart swell with pride (and makes any mother jealous), The Bruce has a strong affinity for me over my wife. When The Bruce hears my alarm at 6:45am, he jumps off my wife’s lap, runs to the bedroom door, and starts yowling. (It’s a cross between a meow and howl — the Siamese in him coming through). My wife bitterly protests playing second fiddle.

Mornings are the time when The Bruce seems demon possessed. He attacks imaginary demons and displays the latest gymnastic routines he’s practicing for the 2008 olympics.

The day is the typical schedule for any cat. Approximately 11.5 hours of sleep.

Before bed, The Bruce likes to unwind just like the rest of us. He’s become an exceptional practitioner of yoga, contorting himself into unnatural positions, as the following series of pictures illustrates.

He usually demands as much attention as he can possibly get before we head to bed. In fact, his latest trick is one my wife loves to encourage. The Bruce sits on the back of large chair in the living room, and when my wife stops petting him and trys to walk off, he reaches out and taps her on the back several times with his paw. She pets him just to watch his reaction when she tries to walk off.

Just how loved is this cat? A few weeks ago my wife, covered with hair with The Bruce in her lap, looked at me and said, “I never thought I’d say this. I’ve become a cat a person.”

We’ve become so fond of The Bruce that when he finally kicks the bucket (don’t worry, he has many years left), we just might have to get a purebred Scottish Fold. They don’t come cheap though, starting at $500 and most breeders have a waiting list.

One of the weird things about The Bruce is the positions he sometimes contorts himself into. Lately, he’s been twisting himself in half, so that his legs are pointing in opposite directions. I personally would find the strain on my torso to be unbearable, but he apparently doesn’t mind.

My previous attempts to get a picture have been thwarted, as he always seems to untwist himself just when I grab the camera, but I was successful this week.

I was worried that I wouldn’t have anything to share this week. The Bruce wasn’t inspiring me to grab the camera. That is, until my wife tied a white ribbon left over from Valetine’s day around him. And then Bruce was running around the apartment, trying to “escape” from the ribbon. I love how cats do that…

I know, them is fightin’ words…

Last week, at least one person asked about The Bruce’s ears, if he was a Siamese with the Scottish Fold ears… The answer is yes, and this picture shows well his unique facial composition. Round face, puffy cheeks, and very cool ears.