--and made the decision (which I think he's regretting a little right now) to tell me about the poor baby.
We emailed Hyde Park Cats--a really great organization that coordinates management of feral cat colonies as well as fostering and adoption of friendly kitties that are homeless for one reason or another--for advice. (Check them out at www.hydeparkcats.blogspot.com )
Then we went to the Smart Museum of Art to check out the last day of the Heartland exhibit. The whole time we were both thinking, perhaps for slightly different reasons, "I hope we don't get home to find a dead cat in the courtyard."
We didn't. He was still there and looked like he was still alive, although it was kind of hard to tell since he wasn't moving or making any noise. So I went inside and put on my nana's elbow-high leather dress gloves in preparation for approaching this poor, half-dead, possibly injured little wretch.
He let me go right up to him, no problem, even though he was huddled in a corner and I couldn't help but block his escape route. After I petted him for a little while, he finally stood up and walked a little, not to get to water or food or a warm blanket, mind you, but because my other hand was too far away to pet him, and he wanted two hands worth of loving.
At this point, I think it's pretty clear where this story is going, so let's pretend there's an ellipsis and just say that this morning I waited at the clinic with him for two hours and put down $200 to have him fixed, tested, vaccinated and chipped.
And now I'm waiting to pick him up this afternoon so he can come home to his (freshly laundered) bed which is, at least for now, taking up about half of the usable floor space in my bathroom. But that face just says, "I love you so, so, so, so much." And how do you say no to kitty love?
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