Over the last month, I've been recruited twice to care for a jet-black cat called Bo - the feline companion of a very good friend of mine. This cat is a skiddish little thing, but so warm if he likes you (he happens to like me, or so I'm told). The charge is simple; arrive, feed cat, entertain if necessary. I leave and lock the door and that's that.
Or so I thought.
My neighbor (a crazy-cat-lady of sorts [?]) knocks on my door saturday evening, after I've seen to Bo. First of all, I was not wearing pants (this is common for me, at home), which was less than convenient. Secondly, after I had hurriedly thrown a pair of paint-covered jeans on, I found my neighbor, and a cat which I could've mistaken for Bo in broad daylight.
Infact, I had.
My initial reaction was "Oh Fuck!" - in front of [Neighbor], [Neighbor's Friend] and [Neighbor's Friend's 11-year-old Daughter]! The cat is a mirror for Bo at first sight, and I had thought that I had somehow let him out of [Friend's] apartment, and he'd followed me all the way back to mine.
Then I realised that I've gotten lost on that particular almost-straight-line trip, and figured the cat wasn't brave enough to make the trek alone. Sense begins to slowly return.
He immediately enters my apartment, and I agree to watch the cat. He's very well taken care of for something to just be found; I'm confident that he has a home somewhere. Somewhere not here. This will do for the moment, though.
I've posted on Craigslist that I have a rogue cat. There were a few posts saying 'Help! I've lost my black cat!' - both referred to a cat called 'Buddy'. This one doesn't respond to that name _at_all_.
I've taken to calling him Ratchet, and he certainly has a home here if no where else.
This type of thinking could do us in...
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