How Cats Felt

Thanks to everyone for sending Isis their best wishes! She is back to her fresh and frisky best.

We took her stool sample to the vet today, and there in the reception area was a 10-wk-old grey tabby up for adoption. Spouse & I played with her while we waited for Isis' poop to process. She was so cute and so playful and -- and -- ok, yeah, you guessed it: next week Isis is getting a new playmate.

I think we are going to name her Morgan, for Morgan LeFay.

Do NOT let me go near fur babies in need of homes. EVER.

In other cat news, Emma (above) learned how to open the sliding screen on the patio door today. She loves to go outside, although I don't really like to let her out much. (I think she's really trying to encourage Isis to run away from home.) I ran out on the deck after her, put her back inside, and shut the glass slider.

About two hours later, a thundershower hit and we had a good twenty minute downpour. I happened to be passing through the kitchen and who do I see outside the door? Old Grey Cat, wet and crabby, trying to figure out why the door is closed. (He thinks all our doors are automatic, because usually all he has to do is mewl once or twice and someone appears to magically open them for him.)

Yes, our 16-year-old senior had slipped out, unbeknownst to me, to do his house rounds and gotten caught in the rain. I towelled him off and he seemed no worse for the wear, aside from being his usual curmudgeonly self, and it being dinnertime besides (reason enough to complain).
Here's Emma felting, in a less malevolent moment. Uh-oh, I think she felted herself to sleep.