So here’s the scoop on that crazy thumb-sucking cat:
He lives across the street.
I found this out in passing whirlwind of chaos that consisted of two kids, two puppies, and two adults. They scream a lot. The kids, I mean. And the adults scream back, sometimes. The dogs, well, they’re pretty quiet. Unless they’re chasing after Bob.
So Bob bolted to the house across the street, the kids piled into the car, the adults screamed at the kids who screamed at the dog who barked at Bob, I asked ‘is that your cat?’ and the kids shouted no, and the dogs ran back and the adults told me that Bob lives across the street. ‘Oh yeah?’ I said, ‘He sucked my thumb the other day.’ But I don’t think anyone heard me.
Truthfully, I find it somewhat disappointing that Bob has a home and a family and all that. I liked him better when he was a stray, a sort of feline magician who could make himself appear and dissappear on a whim. I also liked him better until I found out that he’d not only entered my house but my neighbors’ (to the top of me). Somehow, my whole experience from last week seems less special.
What does seem special is Petey. Did I tell you I’m going to get a dog and that his name is Petey and that we met yesterday and that we like each other a lot and that he’s cute as hell and that he’s a pit bull and that he’s smart and loving and has one brown eye and a brown spot on his butt and a shorter-than-normal tail and he looks sad but really he can be pretty happy and that when he first saw Bob, Petey was on the inside of the door and Bob was on the outside and Bob pawed at the window and Petey licked the window and that I haven’t cleaned the window yet because, until I get him, it’s one more thing to remind me of Petey?
I think I’m in love.