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.
Ugh.
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.
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