Thursday, August 27, 2009
A month ago, I arrived back home from a day of water volleyball and recuperative chilling out only to discover that my cat Bullwinkle was not there to greet me. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. The little furball literally attaches herself to me like velcro. Every morning at 3, she would demonstrate the strength of our karmic bond by climbing into my bed and affectionally jamming her paws into my eyeballs.
I acquired her as a kitten some 10 months earlier. She is not the type to run off. I live 3,500 feet up in the mountains and not all the animals are friendly.
A friend asked me if I wanted another cat. No, I said, still grieving Bullwinkle. I'm not ready. Same answer to another friend.
Two weeks went by.
A very sad meow. Bullwinkle? Couldn't be.
I looked out. Nothing. Then another meow.
Hey, Little Guy, I called out. A huge pair of pointy ears connected to a tail walked into view.
The poor little thing looked like she (definitely a she) hadn't had a bite to eat in weeks. I grabbed a handful of dry food intended for Bullwinkle and emptied it into a dish and set it outside the door, along with a dish of water and a dish of milk. The food was gone in a micro-second, along with a second helping.
Then the little waif walked in the door and made herself at home. In nothing flat, she was sleeping on my lap. That night, she curled up in bed with me.
That was two weeks ago. This little furball isn't going anywhere. Ready or not, I have a new cat in my life. Time to set up an appointment with the vet. Time to give her a name. That's her in the picture. Names, please? Comments below ...