We think my next cat is right outside. That would make seven, which just so happens to be my favorite number. I say we, as in Andy and I. That's right. He has stopped saying, "No more cats!" and has just given in. There is a stray/feral out there I am determined will live with us.
The kitty is a beautiful, tiny cat that looks like a cross between a Ragdoll, Siamese and raccoon. I have dubbed it Shadow because it moves very quickly and if you aren't paying attention you think you imagined it.
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| Hmmm, now that I've seen this, maybe it isn't a cat after all! |
Like Fancy did, this baby comes around looking for food. Like I was with Fancy, I worry about it. He/she is so small and seems so vulnerable. Of course I put out food and water. Well, there's always water out there for the squirrels and birds.
I am going to make a shelter for it today. Then I will attempt to trap it so I can take it to the vet to be spayed or neutered, vaccinated and tested for any diseases. I can't take a chance with my other babies. If everything checks out okay, and she/he is willing, Number Seven will join the feline ranks in Matchettville.
It seems I worried about Boo! for nothing. She is back to her old tricks. A few minutes ago, while three of the six joined me in the bathroom, Boo! jumped onto the wall shelf and scared poor Eli to death. He was standing on the edge of the bathtub and fell off, hitting the trash can as he plunged to the floor. That scared Dash, who was sitting on my lap. He ran out the door. Eli composed himself and took off as well. Boo! sat on the shelf looking quite pleased with herself. I got out of there before she started lobbing Kleenex boxes at the back of my head.
Rooney's "bed buddy" days are coming to an end, I'm afraid. She is an immovable force which does not bode well. I have to move my legs when I sleep. If I don't stretch them, they cramp. So, last night, I got up to go to the bathroom and when I returned she had taken up my space at the bottom of the bed. I tried to squeeze in anyway, but was terribly uncomfortable. Then, she developed hiccups. With each "HIC" the bed shook! I thought I was going to lose my mind at that point.
Asking her to move provides the same result as asking the paint on the wall to change color. So, I resort to a more realistic motivation - treats. Only now she has figured out it makes no sense for her to get off the bed to get a treat - why can't I just give it to her where she is? That leads to me raising my voice. Raising my voice wakes the Big Guy. He intervenes. Somehow he got her off the bed and I went back to sleep.
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