I’m walking the dog after dinner, Mr. Beale is doing the dishes, and at the end of our driveway I hear this plaintive little cry that I think is a child on the playground next door. But I’m not sure and I do my patented “kitty kitty kitty!” call and sure enough, it’s this little niblet:
The dog was curious but didn’t run the little thing off, thank goodness. I was able to bring it indoors, whereupon it devoured a can of cat food and a bowl of water. It is now passed out in our spare bedroom.
Little Cutie is so wriggledy squiggledy, and has such long hair, I have yet to determine its sex. More worrisome is a bare patch on its shoulder (flea allergy? Ringworm? Sign of abuse?) For now we’re keeping it away from everyone else until we’re sure it doesn’t have any communicable diseases.
I’m quite sure there is a sign over our house visible only to felines and dogs that reads “Sanctuary.” Right now my feeling is, if you can make your way to our door, we’ll take you in.
More after a visit to the vet tomorrow.