There's a new man in my life, a younger one. He's a little rough around the edges, a little beat-up. He's lived through danger.
He was a blind date of sorts.
Of course, he's a cat. Well, kitten, about seven weeks old.
The vet called me the first of the week and asked if I'd be interested in fostering this little kitten, who had been mauled by something -- likely, a dog. The vet was getting ready to go on vacation when this little thing showed up on her doorstep. I don't know whether he was dropped there or if the maker of us all simply led him there.
The vet brought him to me Wednesday. One side of One-Eyed Jack's face is pretty well torn up, and one eyeball was punctured and may have to be removed. Hence, One-Eyed Jack. He's not a real pretty sight right now, at least on his right side.
Otherwise, he's adorable. Affectionate, loaded with personality. A perfectly-marked charcoal tabby cat.
So I'm fostering him. I know the vet figures I'll end up keeping him, as a replacement for Zsa-Zsa. A friend from the office wanted to bet me dinner that I'll keep him.
I hope a good home will turn up for him, though. Poor Elvis is distraught. The tormentor of his life is gone and he's been relishing being the only cat. Now this thing arrives.
So, we'll see how it goes. I've taken him to the office with me the past two days. This afternoon and evening, my office mates ended up babysitting him while I went to a crime scene to get a story. I was picked up as a stringer on it for a big-city Yankee paper, so I'll make some desperately needed extra money, too. Not glad for the circumstances, but glad for the paycheck. And I'm glad I work with a crowd of animal lovers!
Anyway, I'd better go give Jack his antibiotics. I'll keep you posted.