Van Gogh

I'm back and getting myself together, and I am doing OK.

Van Gogh, looking fat and happy.
Note the carrier behind him.

Catting around

I have become Cat Woman, sans the outfit. We have had felines in our lives for the past 19 or so years, but the first two pets were left here by our children. They weren't necessarily of our choosing (the cats, not the kids) but what were we to do? It did not take long for them to find a place in our hearts though.  When we lost sweet Casey to cancer six years ago, we got two sister kittens to be companions for our beloved Martian. This year we lost Martian, also to cancer, so our household became just myself, hubby,  Thelma and Louise. T and L are not a ball of energy,  as a matter of fact, one of them seldom gets off the bed.  However, I guess they fit into our lifestyle, as we aren't exactly the movers and shakers we once were either.  About six months ago, I noticed a very pretty grey cat at the edge of the woods that border our property.  I thought he belonged to someone down the street or perhaps the farmhouse across the way.  As time progressed, I saw that he lived in the large grasses that we have on the end of our yard.  He had picked a ideal spot, because right next to the grasses is a very large bird feeder.  We did not want him eating our feathered friends but we felt sad about his situation and started to leave some food out for him. If we provided food, he would not necessarily need to hunt.  Hubby noticed that half of one of his ears was missing, but it had healed over.  I would imagine that he lost (or maybe won) a fight with one of the other inhabitants of our woods.  We named him Van Gogh.  Naming a cat that does not belong to you is really not a good idea, as now they slowly sneak into your heart. We dared not try to catch him and bring him into the house as we did not want to put our other cats in danger of any disease he might have contracted.  We fretted about what we should do.  During the snow storm of October, we laid a tarp over the grasses to keep him dry and then started to think what will happen to him when the freezing temperatures of winter come along   How can we protect him?  Then hubby went out and bought a medium-sized dog carrier and a paw pad for him to lay upon hoping that he would find shelter in there.  So far,  I don't think he has tried it out except for going inside to eat.  However, his personality has changed and now when we go down to feed him he comes right over to us and before he starts to eat, he will rub around our legs and meows and purrs Last week my husband (whose name has now been changed from "Birdman of the Northeast" to "Cat Whisperer") stood in the middle of the yard and called to him.  Van Gogh came right over and  allowed himself to be picked up and cuddled.  He showed  no resistance and put his head against the crook of hubby's arm and purred over and over.  When he was put down, he stayed. This is not a feral cat, but a cat that was once loved. Perhaps he got lost or, in all probability, was left abandoned by the broken-down farmhouse up the street.   We are in a quandary as what to do about our new friend.

The one thing that I have left out in this above story is that in the past month we have not only been feeding Van Gogh, but a few more strange cats that have appeared out of nowhere.  Every week, there seems to be one more.  Do you think Van Gogh has been spreading the news of free food?  Instead of leaving one dish of food, we now leave four.  We are not naming these newbies though, although they all seem very sweet and also meow and purr.  I think Van Gogh must have told him about the act they must put on in order to get their dinner. No more voles or moles for them, the humans here give out prime gourmet food.

So now I am worried about becoming one of those women you read about in the papers, you know, the unkempt older ladies that collect cats.  Lordy, lordy, what have I gotten myself into. 

I might call the cat rescue place sooner than later.  However, I will miss Van Gogh and hope that someone will give him a good home.  He is a love.