Another oddly eventful weekend in which nothing really happened- though Mr. George O'malley did take advantage of the comings and goings of Saturday Night's campfire gathering to make good on his third escape attempt. Like a true Irishman, he wasn't loose on the town ten minutes before he landed in a brawl. To the very short list of creatures that George does NOT love with all his fuzzy heart (the previous two entries being large, black poodles and The Cable Guy) we can now add the orange tabby next door. Following the unmistakably bone-chilling sound of pure,unsheathed feline hate, I found the combatants tumbling over each other in a furry whirlwind. Much chasing around ensued before the neighbor's cat pulled a strategic retreat to his own yard, and I was able to scoop the indignant Mr O' Malley from the firelit driveway and toss him inside to cool off. He is fine, save that his already foreshortened ear is looking...well, a little bit rougher. He seems to have given as good as he got - when I got a look at him in the light, he had a large,bloody chunk of cat-fur in his mouth.

Ick.