Last night Fred and I were lying in bed talking, and we heard the sound of a cat meowing.
“Is that Miz Poo?” Fred said.
“No, it’s coming from outside,” I said, and got out of bed. “That’s that cat I’ve been telling you about!”
Some nights when I’m lying in bed reading or trying to go to sleep, I can hear a cat outside my bedroom window meowing. I never get up and see what’s going on when I hear the meowing, because Fred sets the alarm before he goes to bed and I don’t know the code and I’m usually too lazy to dig for the remote. Also, it sounds like a cat talking just to hear himself talk rather than one in distress.
So I got out of bed and went to see if I could see the cat. It wasn’t Maxi or Newt because they were inside for the night. When I went onto the front porch, I could hear it off to the side of the house meowing. I called and called and it would meow back, but wouldn’t come close. All I could see were little white paws. Fred saw a gray tabby with white feet the other night, so I’m assuming it was the same cat.
When I looked at the food bowl on the front porch I saw that it was empty, so perhaps this was the cat’s way of letting me know. I filled up the food bowl and opened the front door to go inside.
Tommy was right inside the door, and before I could grab him, he went shooting by me. I yelled “STOP!”, shut the door, and went after him. He went off the porch to the left, and I went into the yard to grab him, then he disappeared. Luckily, Fred came out a moment later and could see where he was. Naturally, as soon as I went after him, he squirted by me and headed off to the yard on the other side of the house. With Fred and I both in hot pursuit, Tommy ran across the side lawn of our next door neighbors, headed for the road. I had visions of him running out into traffic, so I pulled out the big guns.
“Who ready for the snackin’!” I called in a loud whisper. “Who ready for the snackin’!”
I try not to do the snackin’ time call unless it’s really snackin’ time, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Tommy paused and looked thoughtfully at me, then headed back in my general direction. Fred went inside to grab a flashlight, and I tried the snackin’ time call again.
I cannot imagine what our neighbors would have thought if they’d heard us and glanced out their window. I was standing there in my red Big Dogs nightie, blue Crocs on my feet, bellowing (quietly) about snackin’.
Fred came out with the flashlight, I yelled about it being snackin’ time a few more times, and Tommy ran over to the bush outside my bedroom window and touched noses with Newt, who’d run outside when Fred came out. Tommy ran toward the yard next door, but this time Fred caught him and picked him up, handed the flashlight to me, and we went back inside.
And I never did get a good look at the cat who’d been meowing.
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Smudgie has gone to the pet store. I set up the guest bedroom and put her in there yesterday morning and left HG in the foster kitten room. I left them alone for a couple of hours and then went to check on them. HG was like “Oh, it’s you. Whatever. DON’T TOUCH ME. Okay, maybe a little. Now let me nibble on your finger. Now go away. BYE.” Smudgie, on the other hand, ran over to me, meowing, purred, rubbed up on me, climbed up in my lap, and was just a big love slut. Since there was room at the pet store, I took her last night, because I don’t think they necessarily need to be adopted together. I think his reliance on Smudgie is keeping HG shy and skittish and if he gets lonely I’ll let Tommy or Newt in to keep him company (or Mister Boogers can go in and act like an ass – HG doesn’t seem particular about which cat he follows around and flirts with).
When I put Smudgie in her cage at the pet store, she sniffed around and went right into the litter box to hide, as the shyer ones always do – but in no time flat people were looking at her and exclaiming over how beautiful she is. She’ll be fine.
Last night there were small inroads with HG. He let Fred pet him several times and didn’t run away at the very idea. This morning, he greeted me with a meow when I came in with his morning snack and to clean out his litter box. He didn’t want me to pet him, but he also didn’t run and hide from me when I walked by, either.
Baby steps.
She’s not sleeping. She’s considering the best way to kill that mouse.
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I found this picture of Tommy from last summer. He’s such a sweet boy.
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