Fortunately, the red font is not there in real life. I'll post better pictures once I get my hands on a digital camera.
Bonnie's first twelve hours Chez Elsa involved hiding under my bed, deciding to come out and get some petting, and waking me up at 5 a.m. with persistant squeaky meowing and a facial expression that said "Why the hell don't you understand what I'm saying?"
Before her kitty foster care (which appears to be much less traumatic, generally, than child foster care), she was a feral cat, and so one of her ears is clipped. While living the tough life on the streets she also got an infected tail, so most of it had to be removed. Now it looks like a little deer tail, and it wags like a dog's when she's happy or excited, like she gets when she looks at the ceiling fan.
Bonnie M, you are awesome.
4 comments:
then, there was the morning strut upon the arrival of the male stranger. she walked from the closet to the bed and back, mewling, with a swagger that said, "you can't have none of this, baby!"
the swagger also said, "is this an occassion for hiding under the bed, or in the closet?"
answer: "closet, most surely."
Can I call her Boney M instead? Can you get her to meow "Sunny" for me?
yes (all references to her namesake are welcomed) and i'm working on it.
i'm also working on getting her acclimated to silver lame fabrics.
i'm also working on getting her acclimated to silver lame fabrics.
...and, most importantly, to skullcaps made thereof.
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