Jul 24 2007
Two more days, and our little cat guest will be off to its new foster home. I spoke today to a lady from the shelter I’ve been working with (Few Steps From Home, if you feel like throwing some cash or other prizes their way) and she told me that the woman who is going to foster our guest worked with vets. This means she will probably have a better understanding of how to care for a banged up cat than I do.
In the meantime, the cat is still confined to our office, where she drools a lot. That is possibly due to the fact that she can’t close her mouth all the way. She also eats, like, a TON of food. I’m not complaining, it’s just, damn. She eats a lot.
Anyway, I feel bad that we can’t keep her. I really wish that her life wasn’t about to get uprooted again, now that she’s been here for over a week and is all comfortable and stuff. But I also don’t want to disrupt my own cats’ lives, and they have made it quite clear that Change=Puking Scared. I can only hope that she’ll be happy, and someone kind will adopt her, and she’ll have a nice second life to look forward to. I know she’s going to a great foster home, and I know this shelter screens their applicants pretty rigorously, so if she gets adopted her permanent family will be great too. But, I still feel bad that we’re sending her away, because I feel like she trusts us, and we’re just going to dump her off on someone else. I wish there was a way to make her understand how much I wish her the best.
She doesn’t have a name, we’ve just been referring to her by handles. The Man calls her “Derf”, for reasons which are too pointless to relate. I’ve been calling her “Buddy”, and generally she’s referred to as “The Cat”. I wonder what her name really is.
Our cats are both too fat to fit in this little cat house, but “Derf” is teeny.