Goodness, it’s Caturday!

Gaston AKA Loud Boy has been around more lately. I’m wondering if the other marks he was workin' got tired of his operatics. Maybe he’s just opportunistically casting a wider net. You know, it’s SO cold and snowy and, look at me, I’m such a sweet, handsome fellow. Don’t you want to give me thirds on brekkie? And throw in some kittie weed and treats while you’re at it, toots.

When I open the inner door, he starts climbing up the storm door. It’s clear that, given half a chance, he’d come in. Ah, if only. My tuxes would NOT be happy about that. At all.

Still, the guilt is elephantine. How can I leave that poor boy in the frozen weather?

Well, for starters, he’s welcome to Rocco’s old cave. It’s still wrapped in a plastic drop cloth and insulated with loads of rags and there's an old rubber raincoat wrapped over top. After each blizzard, if snow’s gotten in, I take all the interior padding out, send it through a hot dryer cycle and stuff it back in. It’s def dry in there AND outta the wind. So far, he’s not entered (as best as I can tell).

Weed and treats FIRST, woman! I'll snuggle in my sleeping bag afterwards.

So, what’s a guilt riddled cat doormat to do? I laid out an old sleeping bag for him. This, he likes. OK.

Old man Rocco continues to make my side of the bed his own. He gets up to eat, use the facilities and...and...that’s about it. Sometimes he’ll head ALL the way over to The Amazing Bob’s side of the bed. He snags some pats, has a look around and then rambles back over to my pillow. The dude, our mondo schmooze beast, TOTALLY knew he was retiring from feral-dom and entering the lush, pampered life, when he zipped through our front door this past August.

Our princess, Coco, is just as playful and kitten-ish as ever. Each morning we have to play hide and seek and run laps of the first floor. Perhaps she’s merely trying to assist me in my weight loss goals?

No sign of Ghost Cat in the last week or so. Naturally I’m concerned. Given how astronomically timid he is and the six feet of snow (minimum) everywhere, hunting him up isn’t a goer.

Here’s something, I thought we’d have mousie sightings this winter. Coco has great fun playing the conquering. warrior babe. Yes, I always feel sad for her poor, wee victims but, ya know, a cat’s gotta do what a cat’s gotta do...and shit. With two brave, furry champions, I figured the body count, each and every morning, would rival LotR, Return of the King’s.

Nope. Not one pitiful, tiny corpse. I’m grateful. REALLY I am. I suffer enough feline related guilt. And yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s a specific PsychCentral noted disorder.