I was at the laptop doing something unproductive around 8-ish last Wednesday night when my wife said there was a kitten at the door. I wasn’t expecting a kitten so went to look and sure enough, there’s a kitten at the backdoor. It kept running away and then running back and then running away and then running back and hiding between the fences yowling at a volume that would make a lion proud so enough of this crap, I set up the Havaheart:
Looks like a raccoon, does’t she? Or a pirate.
Filthy, she was, tick and flea infested, so bath time:
Took her to the Dakota Dream people on Saturday and they said keep her through the weekend and give them a call on Monday to see what we’ll see.
Already, though, she’s stopped hissing and swatting at me and is mewing for attention and rubbing against my fingers and eating well and playing happily. We’ve named her Tess.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
So do Gracie and Circe.
Looks to me that Circe is a relative. A very close relative.
I swear cats are leaving hobo signs on my fence.