Bob's Corner
For any number of reasons (or rationalized excuses), I’m not feeling especially jovial. Although, as my “mind” rambles about inside its bald casing, the thought escapes that I was going to begin this week’s escapade with, “It’s a boy!”
Here’s what happened to get me in that moody mode. For several weeks we’ve been feeding a veritable herd of seemingly stray cats on our back deck. One, a gray-and-white critter that granddaughter Kim named Sonja, indicated a strong desire to enter our home.
The flighty feline also allowed some petting and behind-the-ear scratching. And the kitty came in the house a few times, but was always anxious to get back outside, and I was more than happy to allow that. (How can you be “more than happy”? I feel another rant coming on, but it’ll keep). Anyway, Jan said that we should have Sonja checked by our vet to be sure there were no fatal infectious diseases.
So we got the hairy buddy into an animal carrier with some canned cat food, and off we went. An exam determined that first, Sonja is a he. And second, thankfully, he has no fatal cat ailments. So now he’s named Deckster because of initially living under the deck.
He’s been in the house several days, and our four other cats keep staring at him and trying to sniff him, as cats do. Deckster shows signs of having been a house cat, but still has a tendency to complain about not being let outside. He also hisses a lot when the other cats get too close. Our dog, Bingo, gives Deckster a wide berth, so there’s not a problem in that regard.
I know that some readers do not care one empty can of cat food about our feline adventures, but next week’s column will take care of that. Just watch.
Meanwhile I’m going to catapult myself into a better mood. Otherwise, my life could be catastrophic.
