Today’s cat blog comes straight from the mouth of the Christmas Grumble, the one who broke all the presents. Enter, Quinn Daly.
Article follows. Formatted for use of italics:
This cat blog has me torn. I don’t really like cats that much! In my book, they are only okay! But, I love photography. Also, I miss Bearica terribly. So, when I see a cat, I want to take a picture of that cat. This has never manifested more strongly than on Christmas of this year. On a ride back from my grandfather’s, car full of gifts, family full and happy from a big lunch, I spotted this regal gentleman curled up in a VERY strange position:It should be noted that this photo was taken on the pass back the other way. When I first saw this black blob perched perfectly on a guardrail support, I shouted to my quiet, happy family: “Oh SHIT! Turn the car around! Where’s the camera?! I have to get a picture of this for Bearica.”A half mile up the road, we found a spot to spin around. I snaked my dad’s Nikon DSLR, and sat on the window-sill of the car, my torso exposed to the wind and the asphalt hurtling by below my prefectly sculpted ass. With one hand on the camera and one hand on the “Oh, shit” handle, I managed to steal a few shots of this strangely positioned feline before the sound of the car, and my mother’s high-pitched protests, drove him from his perch. The above was the best of the bunch.Seeing him bolt, my father, at the wheel, obligingly pulled a tire-screeching u-turn and hit the four ways, so I could track my quarry on foot. Crouching as I moved through the underbrush, the predator had become the prey. Scarcely breathing, I snuck this shot of the beast in all of his regal, wild glory:
But my lust for adventure was not yet sated. He split from his cover, and I followed, briars be damned. My final glance of this elegant creature, before he moved faster than I could focus, was perhaps my favourite photograph of the day.He seems to say: “I tire of this game, camera-man. Retreat to your car. Go back to the world of glowing rectangles and cooked meats. You’ve glimpsed my life long enough.”One way or another, I don’t know what was compelling me – the cat? Or the quest for the perfect photo of the cat? Perhaps this is a question I will never answer. But, as I returned to the Subaru, scratched and bruised more than one would expect for Christmas day, even in Western Pennsylvania, I knew one thing: I had done good work, and I was satisfied.
I conclude this post the way Quinn concluded his breath-taking email to me. Because I mean it, right back at him.