We had a visitor night before last–towards midnight, scarcely visible in the dark but crying a pitiable cry.
She was small and furry black with a kink in the tail.
She was distressed and hungry, a exhausted refugee searching for sanctuary.
Meredith was immediately on hand with a plate of food and some water.
“Don’t feed it,” I heard myself saying.
“I definitely am feeding it!” retorted an indignant wife.
In a flash, I had run through all the drawbacks that might occur in the coming days and weeks. (There were precedents.) The effect on the resident cats; the fact that maybe we had enough cats (three indoor and three outdoor) to be going on with etc…I quickly came to the conclusion that the mite was more a problem than a gift.
Then I saw the little black bundle and backed off knowing it was a done deal–we were a four” indoor “cat family!
The following day the vet said HE–for she is another he–is about three-and-half months (milk teeth still in place), of good character and in sound shape–and gave him his first vaccination.
Lundi? Sidney? Gaston?–names on the list of possibles.
Pippa does her usual hissy fit and we’ve seen little of Ben.
Beau is wary but tolerant from the comfort of a strategic chair.
The little mite–not a bad name–slept through his first full day in the wicker basket Meredith had “made nice” for him.
“What-a-ya-gunna-do?”! ? Here I am! Nice lady! Comfy basket. Food in the dish–go for it! “
There’s a lesson for us worry guts…
*french for monday)