Ahhh…Sebastian, the prince of the Woods’ household. This huge, fluffy socialite first arrived at my sister’s house. He hung around for a few days—even though she didn’t feed him and, since she’s allergic to cats, she called me. Of course, being the sucker I am for furry felines, I brought him home. But I wasn’t going to have cat hair all over my house and clothes, so he would NOT be allowed inside.
And then we went to Germany for two weeks to see my niece. Hunky husband was tasked with taking care of our new family member—and he did feed him, but royalty demands attention, pomp, circumstance, or at least a little scratch under the chin. Sebastian is very social. Like, unheard of in cats, social. So he went to see my nutty neighbor…and stayed. In spite of the fact that she heaped indignities on him, for instance, she called him Snowball.
First of all, we’re in Florida—we don’t even know what a snowball looks like. Second of all, how common! This cat clearly deserves a far more regal name.
Okay, I resigned myself to having lost this cat to the neighbor. I still saw him occasionally, but he obviously preferred their yard. I nursed my broken heart and vowed to move on. Then I get the call. “Your cat has been in a fight. His leg is all messed up and you need to take him to the vet.”
Wait a minute. MY cat? The one you alienated from me with your superior yard and catnip?
So I take Sebastian to the vet and bring him in the house temporarily to heal. And then it began. Here’s a couple of pictures of this wonderful cat submitting to Mama’s petting and swaddling. This cat truly exhibits the Fruits of the Spirit.
His leg healed, he could go outside safely again, but…did you see those pictures? Alas, his socialness was his downfall. In the middle of the night he jumped up on Mama’s bed.
She screamed. He scratched. I scrambled.
And thus ended a beautiful friendship. He now roams freely between our yard and the neighbors’ until he requires another vet visit.