So, today I get my kitties back. Some of you know, some of you don’t, that when we put the house in Parish on the market my swell and wonderful Ma graciously boarded our three cats so that we wouldn’t have to hassle with prospective buyers about allergies or whatever.
Today, my mom is bringing my kitties back, minus one. Apparently two of them did extremely well at the Kitty Chateau De Betty, high up in the mountains of West Virginia among the sheep and other cats. George and Muff vacationed happily, but Ginger decided to run off and get herself eaten by a black bear or something. This is especially sad, since Ginger was our calico torti with 7 toes on each of her front paws. I knew going into the process that any number of them might not appreciate my farming them off, literally, but it is sad that Ginger won’t be coming home to us.
So I’m preparing for the homecoming. And as I unload the catfood and prepare the catboxes, Little J rides his bike in the driveway. And then he comes in the front door, letting a cat in.
“Mom!” he cries. “This cat likes me!!” And in comes the furriest, tail-less-est cat I’ve ever seen. I let him wander in. He wound himself around my legs and sniffed the bowl of food I’d placed in the front hallway.
Puff Daddy, as we called him, hung out in the house until I gently put him on the front step a few minutes before mom arrived. He looked at me annoyed, but I told him that I had other cats I needed to make at home before I took in anymore.
He huffed a little sigh and moseyed over to the van to, apparently, wait me out.