Oh Dear

Meet Katherine.  When I got home today a black and white kitty went into our garage.  It's been snowing and raining and hailing all day--I thought someone let Huntress out and she was taking shelter in the garage.  I called her name, assuming she'd follow me back to the house.  When she didn't, I figured she'd gone mousing.  Thought nothing of it.

The kids were out playing.  I went inside and got a snack, settled at the computer, read my email.  The kids march in.  "Hey mom!"

"Yeah?"

"This isn't Huntress."

"What?"  I have to get up and see what the heck they're talking about.  By now the black and white kitty thing has completely left my mind and so what they're saying sounds as sensible as "Hey mom, you're not an ostrich."  

I look at the cat in Orion's arms and, hmm, it has a white spot beside its nose.  That's not Huntress, I realize.  It all comes back to me now.  Actually, not all.  I still haven't made the garage connection.   "Where ...?"

"I was walking by the garage--" Orion begins--

Aha!  Now it's all really coming together--

"And," he continues, "I saw this cat and I thought it was Huntress, so I scooped it up and it started purring.  I turned it over onto its back to tickle its belly and that's when I realized it wasn't Huntress."

My mind starts turning, beginning with Oh Dear.  I send the kids on a mission.  Go forth next door and ask our neighbor TTBD if this is one of his cats.  He has three (?) cats, all feral adoptees, the most feral being far more feral than Wiz started out to be--difficult to touch after months of work but will come inside for food.  They return.  All of TTBD's cats are inside.

The inevitable words--

"Can we keep him?"

I look under the tail.  "Her.  This is a she cat, as far as I can tell."  So I give them the usual spiel about how we have to put an ad in the paper, contact the Humane Society, take it to the vet to see if it has a chip (and for a health checkup, of course) but we all know this is useless.  It would take a miracle to get rid of this cat.  I mean, it's in the house.  No one is going to claim a beat up, neglected little thing that was very likely dumped on the side of the road by a Super Poopyhead within the past day or two and washed up in our garage because the weather was so bad.  It has been owned at some point.  Its unstoppable friendliness and complete lack of alarm at being locked in the boy's room is evidence of that.

Please, please help us!  Surely someone knows this cat, and loves it, and will take it away.  It's a tuxedo kitty.  Argh!  As soon as it becomes comfortable it's going to turn into a yowler, I know it.  A 2am yowler no less.  And it's going to be a barfy yowler too.  With health problems.  

Sigh.

Hey kids, want to just take it to the shelter?  I'm sure someone will adopt it.

Noooooooooooooo!

People are such poopyheads.  But maybe I'm jumping to conclusions.  Maybe this is a poor, lost kitty and we'll see her posted on a sign somewhere--Lost, Kitty, Reward, Please Bring Our Beloved Muffin Home to Us, Children Crying Nightly ...

We've named it.  We're so doomed.

Sigh again, I say, and Sigh.