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My new keyboard has arrived, courtesy of the kindness of my parents. It is, happily, almost exactly like my old one, except with better action, and the right ALT key has been replaced by a Windows/Mac squiggle key (you know what I mean). We'll see if that bothers me or not--I think I actually tend to use the left ALT key anyway, so I may never notice except when I hit the damn thing by accident.
When I went out just now to see if perhaps the FedEx ninjas had softly and silently delivered the keyboard, as the FedEx ninjas are wont to do, I found that indeed they had, placed tidily just to the right of the door. And tidily on top of it was El Marmelado, one of the current cast of feralistas.*
We think El Marmelado may have had a domestic mother, although he was clearly lost/abandoned/thrown out before he was old enough to neuter. (Jowlz. I has them, says El Marmelado.) He is noticeably less skittish than the other ferals. Over the past week, El Marmelado has gone from hissing at me when I inadvertantly got too close to giving me a silent meow when I came out with food. And this afternoon, he was totally King of the Box. I came out, and he was all, What do you want, thumb-monkey?
That's my box, I said.
Says who? said El Marmelado. I got dibs.
Since I don't actually want to encourage him to be afraid of me (the plan being eventually to trap and neuter him, and it would be very cool if he could be rehabilitated into a domestic kitty, although I'm not holding my breath), I said, Okay, went down to check the mail, and came back.
El Marmelado held his ground until I was actually opening the screen door again, and then he retreated a couple of feet. I took the box, but I offered a trade by fetching the food and water I put out for the feralistas daily.
My box was better, said El Marmelado grumpily and went to get a drink.
And when I came back inside with my new keyboard, I discovered Catzilla had somehow gotten himself shut in the pantry. Again.
Life with cats.
---
*These days, I regularly see El Marmelado, the Shy Tabby, and the Lesser Mackenzie, and there's another, even lesser, fluffy red cat whom I have seen once or twice. The Lesser Mackenzie is the only one of the cats we trapped and had neutered whom I still see--Rigby and the Greater Mackenzie have both vanished, along with Eleanor and Hilary. I hope they've just found other territories to roam, but I suspect that isn't really the answer.
The only kitten I have ever seen was Eleanor's kitten, Brownkitten (well, and her sibling, who disappeared only a couple days after I first saw them). Brownkitten, I got into the local feral rescue program, and I hope she is living as happy and pampered a life as our Formerly Feral Ninjas are.**
---
**A quick ninja story--fanservice for the cat-lovers, since this is already a cat-centric post: When the Second Ninja was small, she was the poster child for Short Attention Span Theater. (She's still that way a little, but maturity has brought a better ability to focus.) She was also an inveterate investigator of cups if they were left where she could reach them, always with the same, "Ooh, hey, cup! What's in here?" attitude. This morning, I had a cup of warm water on my desk from taking my herbal supplement, and the Second Ninja came to walk across my keyboard and get snuggles, like she does. And she noticed the cup.
I am charmed to report that at the serious and mature age of six, she is still an inveterate investigator of cups.
"Ooh, hey, cup!"
When I went out just now to see if perhaps the FedEx ninjas had softly and silently delivered the keyboard, as the FedEx ninjas are wont to do, I found that indeed they had, placed tidily just to the right of the door. And tidily on top of it was El Marmelado, one of the current cast of feralistas.*
We think El Marmelado may have had a domestic mother, although he was clearly lost/abandoned/thrown out before he was old enough to neuter. (Jowlz. I has them, says El Marmelado.) He is noticeably less skittish than the other ferals. Over the past week, El Marmelado has gone from hissing at me when I inadvertantly got too close to giving me a silent meow when I came out with food. And this afternoon, he was totally King of the Box. I came out, and he was all, What do you want, thumb-monkey?
That's my box, I said.
Says who? said El Marmelado. I got dibs.
Since I don't actually want to encourage him to be afraid of me (the plan being eventually to trap and neuter him, and it would be very cool if he could be rehabilitated into a domestic kitty, although I'm not holding my breath), I said, Okay, went down to check the mail, and came back.
El Marmelado held his ground until I was actually opening the screen door again, and then he retreated a couple of feet. I took the box, but I offered a trade by fetching the food and water I put out for the feralistas daily.
My box was better, said El Marmelado grumpily and went to get a drink.
And when I came back inside with my new keyboard, I discovered Catzilla had somehow gotten himself shut in the pantry. Again.
Life with cats.
---
*These days, I regularly see El Marmelado, the Shy Tabby, and the Lesser Mackenzie, and there's another, even lesser, fluffy red cat whom I have seen once or twice. The Lesser Mackenzie is the only one of the cats we trapped and had neutered whom I still see--Rigby and the Greater Mackenzie have both vanished, along with Eleanor and Hilary. I hope they've just found other territories to roam, but I suspect that isn't really the answer.
The only kitten I have ever seen was Eleanor's kitten, Brownkitten (well, and her sibling, who disappeared only a couple days after I first saw them). Brownkitten, I got into the local feral rescue program, and I hope she is living as happy and pampered a life as our Formerly Feral Ninjas are.**
---
**A quick ninja story--fanservice for the cat-lovers, since this is already a cat-centric post: When the Second Ninja was small, she was the poster child for Short Attention Span Theater. (She's still that way a little, but maturity has brought a better ability to focus.) She was also an inveterate investigator of cups if they were left where she could reach them, always with the same, "Ooh, hey, cup! What's in here?" attitude. This morning, I had a cup of warm water on my desk from taking my herbal supplement, and the Second Ninja came to walk across my keyboard and get snuggles, like she does. And she noticed the cup.
I am charmed to report that at the serious and mature age of six, she is still an inveterate investigator of cups.
"Ooh, hey, cup!"
