Welcome, Kitty

When we moved here, the landlord didn’t want any cats in her house.  (She’d had a bad experience with kitty poop in the past).  I gave my kitties to my mom—they’re fully settled in and happy, I am told. 

A month after I arrived, I heard this gal.

Yowling.  Crying.  Bone-skinny.  I pretended I didn’t see her for the first two weeks, knowing how much trouble we would be in  if the landlord saw Kitty. 

But she was persistent. 

When D-ennis returned from his trip, I showed him Kitty.  He held Kitty, scratched her ears, caressed her tummy, and promptly announced that we would need to buy kitty food next time we were at the store.

In the time between me getting to the store, and that fateful evening that we adopted each other, we fed her scraps from dinner.  She was so hungry that when we fed her the neck of our recently killed grouse, she tried to swallow it whole and nearly choked herself!  I had to hold her to the ground, reach down her throat and pull it back out.  We’ve only given her bite-size pieces since then.

This is Kitty a week after Adoption.

She’s doing much better.

She stands her ground when Maggie tries to make her run, has learned not to stand on the log that I’m hitting at with the axe, and likes to chase chipmunks and voles.

Welcome, Kitty.

 

 

 

p.s.  The landlord is okay with Kitty and offered to buy her food, as long as she stays out said and kills voles.  Get Crackin’ Kitty!