Report From Feral Cat Heaven

This is Greta. She’s the newest of our porch visiting felines. She sits demurely under the window near the door, looking up expectantly, hopefully -- patiently waiting. Bob and I always do the one-moment sign, letting her know we’ll be right out with her meal. When we open the door, naturally, she yells/growls at us and then zips away under Jen’s van.

The absolute second we disappear inside she’s back, chowing down.

Rocco’s new head wound is taking a very slow ass time to heal. I suspect he’s fucking with it, picking at it, trying to clean. We worry OF COURSE. He’s still so feral that all we can really do is set out great big meals of tuna and speak to him in soothing tones.

Helpless -- feelin’ helpless here. Hating it!

His cheek wound, which I figured would kill him, is completely healed over now. I have hope.

 Gaston’s winter coat is in and he’s sporting the full blow Maine Coon Cat look. God he’s a beauty -- Hermes winter line has got nothing on our boy! No pics of his massive fur bound self yet, sadly. He tends not to sit and pose when there’s breaky in the offing.

Virgin of Mercy of Saint Theodore, c.950, Byzantine

This is Skitter, at left, as a wee bairn with her mother Trixie. Trixie was the visitor who decided to move in and no she didn't bother to ask if that was OK with us or our poor timid Coco.  She now has a wonderful home with a lovely woman over in the Mission Hill section of Boston. Skitter moved in with Jen and Oni.
Opportunistic little cusses.

And this is Skitter as the leggy super model-ish young adult that she is now. Her favorite activity is to fuck with the older cats in Jen and Oni’s house. Thelma loves the play, the activity. Rosie plays the grouchy old matron, hissing and growling at Skitter’s attempts to play, and then spends the day napping away with her as though they were Madonna and child.

They're all, indoor and out, feral and tame, pretty damned spoiled now. As it should be.