George, ginger and white, primary occupant of the household’s radiators and sun patches. Specialises in the unblinking stare that ends with food being produced, and the kind of full-sofa stretch that constitutes a day’s exercise. This is his archive.
George at point-blank range: green eyes, ginger and white. The title is a pun. The cat has heard it. He has nothing further to add.
George at point-blank range, green eyes, ginger and white. The title is a pun and the cat has clearly heard it before.
George in a cardboard box of wine bottles: ginger and white, looking lawful. Wine deliveries are, until further notice, on hold.
George installed in a cardboard box of wine bottles, ginger and white, looking entirely lawful about it. Wine deliveries suspended pending review.
George on his back, paws loose, ginger and white against the sheet. He has, by his estimation, finished. The day will start without him.
George flat out on his back on white sheets, paws relaxed, ginger and white. The classic moggy yoga position. Fully off duty.
George, ginger and white, wearing the dark collar. The face he reserves for a lens held too close, held there a beat too long: flat, patient, narrowed entirely to this one mechanical offence.
George flat on the coloured blankets, Easter Sunday afternoon. Ginger and white, horizontal. He has not eaten the chocolate. The rest, in time, he will.
George at the windowsill, Buddha statue for company. Easter weekend, decent light. They wear, for the photograph, the same face.
George on a stool, ginger and white, green eyes steady. The pose suggests he is between things. He is not. He is precisely where he means to be.
George at the door, ginger head round the frame. He watches. Each passing body is, by his lights, a potential breach.
George under the white blanket: a ginger flank visible through the weave. Mid-morning, committed. The arrangement is his, and final.
George silhouetted against the sky — Tennessee Williams without the libretto. A brief rooftop expedition. He came in for tea.