The problem with being used to things being nice and quiet, is when the new commander comes in and stirs everything up and decides to go take out the neighbors.
Jim The Cat report; the guy in the family showed up with a big bag of catfood. He evidently was the only one wanted Jim. He said if the cat went back to Bellingham, he’d live in the yard. Yeah, right, like our conscience would take that.
After I told him our white cat Leo was still healing from the puncture wounds Jim put in his throat and watched the guy’s eyeballs spinned, I told him Leo always attacked a new cat and always got hurt.
Anyway, Jim’s staying with us. Told the guy to bring us some catfood once in a while. He’d showed up with catfood, so he may be good for it. We’ll see.
I’m glad the big orange guy has a good home with you.
My two are taking turns assisting me in cutting out a quilted purse. Their notion of helpfulness is to sit right on the fabric with the pinned pattern, and bite me if I run the scissors too close to the butt. I finally had to resort to the squirt bottle to evict them and keep my skin intact.
Jim is being forced to be a housecat, tho’ this is a pretty safe place. The neighbor’s happy-go-lucky cat, “Savage,” beats the hell out of him if he goes out. He is feeling very sorry for himself, the big baby. Savage has always been stuck outside, with very little, and is the happiest, most friendly cat. Jim, at one point, was a girl’s bed baby, and misses it sorely. I see he’s stopped limping.
Both mine are house cats. However, Bertie, my older cat, is an escape artiste. You wouldn’t think any cat that heavy (20+) could move at such speed, but he can hit warp 10 and be out the door before I even know he’s in the kitchen. Erich, who is a Maine Coon mix, and superbly equipped to be out in any weather (Double coat, big tufty snowshoe paws) absolutely does NOT want to be outside. I left the door open for him once, and he did come out, sniffed around for five minutes, and went right back in.
Our ancient black Hector, on water and special food now he’s so old, still whisps his way out under out feet. Jim acts like he wants out, is miserable when I let him, and then pretends to be all gripy until he melts in front of the stove.