I’ve always been a “dog person”, but every once and a while a stray cat comes along that I can’t help but like. For the past two and half years I have been greeted by one of these loving stray cats every single day. He lives on my front porch, sleeps in my flower beds and drapes himself across the steps so that I have to step over him to go upstairs.
Well, I call him Trevor, and the people on the first floor call him Scamp and the lady down the street calls him Linus. Everyone thinks he is their cat.
He lives outside, but a few times when I’ve been tipsy tired after a night on the town I’ve almost let him in the house. Then I picture him going berserk, running up the walls, ripping curtains, shedding on the furniture, and I put him back outside.
But he doesn’t seem to mind. He gets more attention outside in the neighbourhood than most indoor cats probably get. He’s probably better fed too – everyone gives him scraps, extra cat food, etc. Occasionally I come home to find a little “present” (a.k.a. – a dead mouse) on my door step as a thank you for the leftover chicken I gave him the night before. Aren’t I lucky? 😉