Trouble and I are just back from the vet, where the heretofore bundle of love seen at left morphed into a tiny ball of holy hell. He turns out to be a very healthy, nearly 11 pound, 3-ish year old neutered male, one who has definite ideas about what should and should not be done with needles and thermometers. After the vet took him to the "treatment area" ("to spare your arms," she said) to de-worm him and give him his shots , the offscreen ruckus was almost comical. I was genuinely surprised when the vet returned unbloodied. And yet, not five minutes after we get home, this is his demeanor. So he is someone's pet, or at least ex-pet. I wouldn't expect the farmers here to neuter a barn cat, and he's in terrific condition with no fleas or scars or any of the other calling-cards of a stray. He could be a dumped cat, like Pippi was, but I don't know why anyone (other than a vet tech) would want to rid themselves of such a loving, mild-mannered, healthy cat. He could be a runaway, but he's been here more or less consistently for at least six weeks, and nobody has come looking for him. I'll get my landlord, who knows everyone in the valley, to ask around, but there's really not many houses in runaway-cat range, so I doubt that will turn up anything. Plus, nobody at the vet's office recognized him--and believe me, they would have, given his performance this morning--and they are the only vet in town. So it looks like he's my little bundle of joy mixed with a dash of terror.
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