I think we’ve been conned by a small yellow cat.
Oh, he knew what he was doing when he climbed the front steps of the church on Sunday morning as services were starting, being careful not to use one of his back legs as if it was somehow mysteriously hurt. I’m not sure how, but he must’ve also known that my wife & niece were in the sanctuary, neither of them being able to pass a hurt animal without welling up with tears and uncontrollably wanting to help the poor thing out. You should see them when those ASPCA or Humane Society commercials come on the air! It’s truly sad.
Well done young cat. You managed to play the Tiny Tim/Little Match Girl/Oliver Twist card to perfection. And now we are your unwitting host family; buying you food, providing you shelter & affection, nursing your supposed wound. Oh yeah. You’re good. We surrender to your overt cuteness.
The niece is so obsessed with “taking care” of him that she woke up well before my alarm went off at 5:20am to “check on him”. A fact even more impressive knowing that this little girl doesn’t usually stir before 10:00 during the Summer months.
She named him “Magic” because when we first brought him to the house we placed him in a critter crate from which he managed to escape multiple times. This prompted the wife (of course) to call him Houdini, which she had to explain to the inquisitive seven-year-old. But Magic is easier to remember.