David IMed me while I was at work yesterday, something he doesn’t ordinarily do, and when he does, it’s usually about trouble.
This time? Stray kitten in the back yard. He emailed me pictures of a sad little grey waif with big scratches on its forehead, a bald spot over one tawny-orange eye and immense elf-ears. It’s been raining for a solid week here (no joke; the bay is within half a foot of overrunning its normal banks).
Well, damn.
I’m calling it Mouser for the time being (after Leiber’s Gray Mouser, of course). Last night we were able to feed it and entice it up onto our back porch. This morning it came a few feet inside our bedroom, bribed by kitty treats. When we talk to it, it answers back in a piercing mew. Definitely not pettable yet… but we have hopes, at least of getting it to a vet to get its scratches seen to and its shots done.
We think Third Goth got scooped off the street and taken care of; I saw a “Found Cat” sign in the neighborhood that answered to his description. So now there is Mouser instead.
