About a month ago we considered getting a dog again; the time seemed right after we put our lab down around 2002.
The more we considered it, the more a dog just didn’t fit the way we live now. We can’t fence a yard due to the lay of the land; we’d have to figure out how to puppy-proof the house; would need to keep both cat and dog food, don’t like to use a kennel when we go on vacation, etc.
Friday a week ago, Sue got a call from a gal she knows who had adopted a cat from a rescue organization about an hour away. She was in tears, saying she’d had the cat for two weeks, it wasn’t eating or drinking, it had wedged itself into a space in her coffee table and wouldn’t come out, etc.
It turns out she had one of those small, yappy canines that barked at the cat incessantly.
Anyway, Sue drove over and picked up the traumatized cat, who was named Forrest, for Gump. (don’t blame us, we didn’t name him. He’s a 2 year old Siamese mix, neutered, and as friendly and sweet-tempered as he can be, up on all his shots, and a pretty big boy, at 18.5 lbs.
Of course, he was eating and drinking; 2 weeks with no water would have meant a dead cat.
He has adjusted well to our two other cats, better than our 11 year old Siamese has to him, but it’s all good.