The kitty saga continues.
I had barely gotten used to the fact that we lost Snowbell when Sam walks in last night with an orange tabby kitten in his arms.
Like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Me: "Wait. Wait! Wha?"
Sam: "Can we keep it? Just for a little while?"
As the dog slobbered all over the poor thing I did a quick assessment. Kitty is in pretty rough shape. It had been hiding under grandpa's car and emerged at just the moment Sam walked outside.
Perfect timing, right?
I cannot say no. I am a sucker for kittens always, but this one just weaseled his way into my heart.
It's been difficult to type this because Mr. Patch apparently thinks I'm his mama. He likes to curl up on my chest, and he won't take no for an answer.
He's had a bath already, but it's going to take a few days to get him thoroughly cleaned up. He has something gray - paint, I think - all over his tail and on his ears. The insides of his ears are nasty; I cleaned them with Q-tips last night and it was not pretty. The pads on his paws are caked with grit, and he has a couple patches of missing fur (hence his name, Patch) where he's been injured or maybe got too cold outside.
But he's a sweet, sweet kitty. He is not bothered by the dog, who seems to think Patch is her new toy. I think he already has the litter box thing figured out.
He slept on my bed last night.
Oh, dear. This was not how I planned things.
Aren't life's little surprises the best? Heh.