dad and frank As we packed up our home to head to Asia we were faced with the question of  a suitable home for our cat Frank, who with his near human personality, had firmly enthroned himself in our living room, and just as firmly established a place in our hearts.

When Jon married Nicole our family welcomed not only a dear daughter-in-law but also her cat, Frank. We took “temporary custody” of Frank when Jon and Nic moved down to the States and no longer had room for both Frank and Jon’s lumpy cat Daisy. If you’ve met Daisy, you know we got the better end of that deal. Unfortunately, a couple of years later we also had plans to move, and we agonized over what to do with Frank.

I was reminded of  a cat that we had for a number of years during my childhood.  His name was Pussyfoot John (Don’t ask; I have no idea what that name was about).  Although he was a family cat, everybody knew of the special bond that existed between Dad and Pussyfoot John.  Dad was always an early riser and every morning would fry himself eggs for breakfast.  Dad ate the yolk and the cat ate the whites.  If Dad were ever tempted to sleep in even an extra few minutes, that cat was on his bed batting him around the face to get up and make him breakfast.

From this came the devious plan to ask dad to “babysit” Frank for awhile.  They have become fast friends and, even though I think that Frank actually runs the place, I know that he is great companion for Dad.  And, after all, if you are going to take a walk around the property, it is nice to have company. We owe this picture to my niece, Jenelle, who had this lovely picture posted on Facebook. I thank her for this touching photograph which has brought back some very fond memories.

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