Cat Number 3, postscript

Less than 24 hours in the house, and already an olive-grey cat hair has found its way into my iBook's keyboard. Amazing how fast they insinuate themselves into our lives.

As of this morning, the 3 cats were still not mixing. Iffy is aloof, if not actively hissing, Patch won't approach the new kitten and can't approach Iffy, and the new fella wanders about lonesomely, rebuffed. The poor thing is starved for love and attention - imagine how she was taken from her mother as a young kitten, and was only supposed to be in that pet shop for a few days - but the person who ordered her decided they didn't want her, so she's been stuck there for more than two months. She had to be moved from the cat run because the other cats bullied her, so her world has been circumscribed by her small cage. Last night, she crawled right into bed with K and I, pushing her face into shoulders and armpits, no doubt seeking some mammalian warmth and comfort, and making quite a nuisance of herself, frankly, but I couldn't bear to throw her out, so I just hid as much of myself as possible under the blanket - unlike Iffy, this one hasn't learned yet that claws are not nice in bed.

Last night K and I brainstormed some names for her. The shortlist:


She responds best to Twinkle, so far, so we may be able to stop referring to her as Number 3 soon.


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