I'm sure you're all dying for an update on Henry, the stray cat I fed.
He's still there, in his favorite bush, and I'm still feeding him.
It's actually kind of nice having him out there in the bushes. When I come home, I'm greeted on both sides of my door. Henry handles the outdoor greeting, while I have a poke through the shrubbery to see if there are any more dead rabbits in there, and then my two official cats greet me when I come inside. Naturally, with their keen sense of smell, they suspect me of subterfuge instantly.
"Why do you smell funny?" they ask, heads cocked and eyes narrowed.
"Because I worked outside today, and it was 85 degrees," I tell them evasively.
"You know what we mean," they say with an exasperated sigh.
"You guys are cats. You're barely sentient. Barfing is your hobby," I reply, a little tersely. "I don't have to answer to you."
"We're going to go enjoy our hobby in your laundry now," they say, and stalk off.
Whatever.
At least it's a cute furry animal who's living in the bushes. I harbor my share of humanitarian sentiment, but believe it or not, if it were a person out there, I would feel uncomfortable. Perhaps even to the point of asking him to leave, or chasing him away with a broom.
Me: Ahhh...good to be home. Looks like there's still time to do a little writing tonight before---aw, man.
Bush Hobo: Hey! Oi! Hey!
Me: Dammit.
BH: You got any sammiches? Sammiches? Hey!
Me: Still haven't found your owner yet, huh?
BH: There's bugs in my water.
Me: Well, maybe you should go live in someone else's bushes.
BH: Nope! Found a dead rabbit! Want it?
Me: No.
BH: You sure? I caught it myself. Hey! Can I have some more Purina? I ate all the stuff you gave me yesterday. Whatchoo got in that bag?
Me: Stop rubbing my shins. Tomorrow I'm gonna take you to the vet and see if you have an RF-ID tag. *sigh* And I suppose you can have this can of cat food--it gives my cats gas.
BH: Oh boy! Meat goo! Oh boy ohboyohboy! Hey! Heeeeey! Here's my belly. Rub it!
Me: Dammit.
I would also imagine that finding a home for a bush hobo would be pretty hard. It's not easy to get someone to take a stray cat, even with their inherent cuteness advantage.
Interestingly, if the bush hobo was a toddler, the balance would swing the other way, swinging back again right around puberty. Just something to think about the next time you chastise me for giving a dollar to a bum.
This is good stuff. I like being greated be Henry when I come over too.
ReplyDeleteHenry wasn't in his bush this afternoon. Did his amnesia pass and did he remember where he lives? Did someone come get him? or was he simply away from the bush on important cat business? We don't yet know.
ReplyDelete