Wednesday, December 19, 2012

There was a cat, a month ago, who forced his way into my house by waiting by my front door until I opened it to get the mail. As soon as the door opened, he ran his way in to my house. I immediately thought "Oh shit, Ryan's old roommate's cat, who was an 'outside' cat, found its way back here."I watched it run into my kitchen, realizing it was grey, not black, and it started walking around like it owned the place, like it knew where everything was or was supposed to be. Meowing its fool head off, it was puffy like it was cold or scared, which it was probably both. I let it stay inside until it warmed up because it seemed like an even tempered cat, not one that would bite me at its first chance. I walked around with it as it checked out my room, telling it "Dude, you can't live here. We don't have a place for you to poop." I searched the drawers for leftover cat food from my bro's old roommate, but the catfood is gone or very well hidden. When it was sufficiently warm, I put it outside, which I felt terrible doing because mid-November nights are cold, too cold for cats. But I didn't know who or where this cat belongs because I don't see it in my neighbors' windows. I don't know what happened to this cat, who I named Gandalf the grey...cat. I hope it found its home okay. I tell myself that I can't be one of these people who takes in strays, saving them from the elements because I don't have a litter tray or food. I purchased a can of food at my last grocery trip in case Gandalf returns, but I think it goes that when he returns, he'll be white. I feel absolutely shitty that I had to put him out, though. The fact that I don't have a place for it to poop isn't good enough to me.

said Tommy T. at 1:40 PM - #

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