The other day Nick and I got up at 400 AM, as we do every night to write and we were greeted by a skinny yellow cat having a nap on the sofa.
Upon seeing us, that fast feline made a dash for the an open kitchen window and was gone in a flash. She leapt from our second floor balcony and disappeared into the darkness of the Bangalore night.
I understand the leap - cats land on their feet. But I’m left wondering how the hell she got up here to get in. There is nothing climbable anywhere near. Did she fly? Can we cats fly? And if we can, can I?
My mother didn’t stick around after we kittens were weaned so there was no opportunity for any tips and tricks on being a cat. We had to figure it out ourselves. My siblings were no help. We were born in a barn and they were more concerned with rodents, barn swallows and being around at milking time.
That lifestyle held no appeal to me and I headed for the nearest metropolis where I spent a year or so looking pathetic. I was fed by every child and sympathetic adult cat lover who came within my “cat charm range”. I gained enough weight that my belly would sometimes scrape the ground as I wandered around looking for napping spots. I hung with other ferals. Good bunch - we keep in touch.
That’s when my path crossed Nick’s path. He took immediate action - scooped me up and took me to a vet who proceeded and poke and prod every single one of my orifices and then came the coup de grace. Castration. I was so embarrassed after but had no reason why. I should have considered it a blessing.
Two less things to bathe. And oddly it freed up a lot of time as I wasn’t spending hours looking for someone with which to have sex.
After a series of shots, Nick and I began our life and writing gigs together.
But today I do investigating - how did that stray get into our flat?
#AdoptDontShop #SlavaUkraini