Fire Cat
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Maggie is the cat we got when Oliver died. She was two years old when we adopted her, and she was found on the streets somewhere in far south suburban Chicago. She is the most timid, frightened cat imaginable. None of our daughters, or any visitor to our house, have ever seen her except for a few seconds when she runs away into our bedroom to hide.
But, with Mrs. George and me, she is sweet, loving and funny. So vocal, so soft. The vet described her coat as "lustrous." She likes to sit near me sometimes.
In the last few weeks, she's taken to hiding under a "hidey pad" used for cat/bird treats. She probably thinks no one can see her, so it's safe.
But given today's weather, it's probably a good place to keep warm.
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Reminds me of Huntin' Kitty, my old barn cat. In looks, anyway. She's a gorgeous cat. Ol' HK is buried in the field, beside some of her friends. I sure do miss her.
I have her last kitten as my house cat. First damn cat I've ever had in the house.
I had to. Something got his brother and tried to get him, so after a $1000 vet bill, he wasn't going back outside.
Frick (his brother Frack probably got ate) is so laid back with the wife and I, he's horizontal. He's not that way with other folks.
So maybe growing up outside makes them skittish. And maybe old folks helps them stay calm.
May Maggie have a long life. She already has a good one...
Always remember, Operation Valkyrie was an act of sedition.
Warning: I post things that interest me. Read and comment at your own discretion. -
We were told that Maggie had had a litter of kittens, somewhere in the street. None of her babies survived.
When we adopted her, I could still feel the sutures on her abdomen from her spaying.
She's as vocal as a Siamese. She won't cuddle, but she's always within arm's reach for a scritch and a rub. Meowing all the time while getting them.
