Cat

At some point, we should stop calling Cat a feral cat and start calling her the diva cat.

I went upstairs in the shop this morning to look for a pot to use to bake bread. Today is a nice, sunny day – not hot, not cold, low humidity – a pretty day. Cat is upstairs in her comfy box of clothes . . clothes that have been move from Kentucky to Missouri to Texas and will probably never be worn again but she approves of them.

I look over and her litter box needs to be cleaned. I don’t think most feral cats have a litter box and a comfy, safe place to snooze the day away.

We took an old foam topper off our bed and Vince folded it up and left it on top of the garlic drying racks (that are empty now). He was sure there was something he could do with that old piece of foam. Cat immediately decided that was a great place to sharpen her claws and to sleep.

Yesterday I walked by and she was sleeping there. I will usually stop and talk to her and sometimes she’ll get up, hop down and come let me pet her. I never try to go to her . . I always let her come to me. While I was talking to her and she was still stretched out on that piece of foam, she rolled over on her back. I thought . . that’s an invitation for me to reach over and pet her. I kept talking to her and gently touched her foot, which was the closest thing to me and the fartherest place from her teeth. I toughed her foot and she jumped, hissed and ran away so I guess I won’t try that again.

Every time I walk upstairs and she’s there sleeping, she looks at me like “What the heck do you want? I’m sleeping . . can’t you see?”

Her feral cat friends are probably so jealous of her lifestyle!