Everett has gone off to Petsmart, hopefully to be adopted so fast it makes our heads spin. He howled and howled and howllllllled all the way there, and then when I put him in the cage with Lucy, he hissed at her, hissed at me, and hissed at the employee walking by on the other side of the glass.
Drama queen.
Lucy was okay; when I walked in, she meowed and ran over to the door of her cage and slithered through when I opened it to put Everett inside. She purred when I picked her up and nuzzled her behind the ear, and she was okay with going back into the cage.
Sally, on the other hand, was sitting in front of her litter box (basically, as far from the door of her cage as she could get), and wouldn’t come to me no matter how much I sweet-talked her. I finally had to take the litter box out to reach her, and then I petted her and scratched her under the chin and she purred for me, but wouldn’t come over to me, so I didn’t push it.
I worry about her – I really thought that being in a cage by herself would bring her out of her shell, but it doesn’t appear to be doing that. I hope that she calms down and relaxes a little – I hate the thought of her being there, unadopted. You can’t really blame people for not wanting to adopt a cat who won’t show the slightest bit of affection. I did put a note on her description saying that she’s scared in new situations and once she warms up she’s a total sweetheart. Hopefully someone will come along who’s willing to give her a chance.
I’d love to make her a permanent resident – I’d love to make all three of them permanent residents, really – but I’m not kidding when I say that we’re over capacity on the permanent residents. It’s tough to see them go, and I hate to see them sitting there, but I have to have faith that the right people will come along and fall in love with them.
Everett, flirting with da bird.
And getting a bit too close to Miz Poo, who was aghast.
She reached out to smack him, but he was too fast for her, and was keeping his eye on da bird.
Then he went and sat in the box.
A lot.
All day Sunday, he carried this green sparkle ball around, keening as though he’d killed something and deserved praise.
Such a cutie pie.
I have to say, I think he went off to Petsmart just in time. Yesterday morning when I came downstairs, I found him sitting in the back yard at the bottom of the steps, looking around. At eight months old, he’d finally figured out the cat door.
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No babies for Emmy yet. Every time I leave the house for longer than a few minutes, I rush up to the foster room to see if she’s birthed those babies yet. She yawns at me and says “What babies?”
She is absolutely packed full of kittens, that one. You can’t tell so clearly when she’s laying in her basket or hanging out in her kennel, but yesterday she flopped down on the floor, and I could see the writhing mass of kittens moving and kicking in her belly. I spotted what was, without a doubt, a kitten foot moving across her side. It is so cool and so weird to watch (and to feel).
I can’t wait to meet those babies. ANY DAY NOW, EMMY.
“Just hanging out on my shelf. No babies here!”
(We were doing the slow-blink love-eyes at each other.)
“I am not pregnant. I am just full-figured.”
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Stinkerbelle, atop her pantry. Going by the look on her face, I suspect she was looking at Tommy.
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Previously
2011: Bath time for Corbie.
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: “What doin’, Skittyboo? What it do?”
2007: The first round of Hellcats were unfortunately faster and meaner than we expected.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.