With the exception of the three or four hours he spent up a tree yesterday, chased there by Kodi after he foolishly ran away from her, thus triggering her hunting reflex, Temp Cat is doing fine, as you can see. We still need to canvass the neighborhood to see if anyone’s missing him, but I believe Krissy has already scheduled a vet trip for him for shots, deworming and possible detestefying. I say “possible” because Krissy seems to think he’s been previously snipped; I rather think it’s that he’s not yet hit cat puberty. Either way, we’ll find out. And naturally once we’ve paid for his emasculation, then we own him, because if you’re going to take someone’s balls from him, you pretty much owe him lifetime support.
And no, before someone asks, “Temp Cat” is not his name, it’s his current condition. Should the owner location project fail, and post shots and snippery, he will be put on staff at the Scalzi Compound and given a name. Personally I think his name is Robert Paulson, but that’s probably too obscure to amuse anyone but me. Anyway, Krissy has declared she has naming rights this time, and when you consider the fact the other two cats are named Ghlaghghee and Lopsided Cat, this is probably for the best.
In any event, off to writing. If I don’t finish this chapter today, I will have to put my head in the garbage disposal. It’ll be a while before I’m back. Try to amuse yourself somehow.
Also, before anyone notes it: Yes, that’s a bacon wallet package in my “in” box. A gift from a friend. I’m waiting for just the right occasion to use it.