I wrote about her last Wednesday on Working Stiffs. Back then, she didn’t have a name. Nor did she have a home. Now she has both.
The name I’ve settled on is Kensi after the character on NCIS Los Angeles. I just like the name. It’s different
(There will probably be 4,000 girls named Kensi starting school five or six years from now and my unique name will be as common as dirt.)
As for her home… Yeah, everyone guessed it. She’s not going anywhere. There are details to be worked out. Hubby’s still resisting the idea of another cat in the house. So I’ve moved her into the basement. My excuse is that leaving her food out on the porch at night draws raccoons and I refuse to feed good cat food to the wildlife. Ulterior motive? Litter box training. A must before any kitty, cute or not, can move upstairs. It took her a couple of missteps, but now she’s figured out how it works.
My other ulterior motive is quarantine. Until she’s had her shots and been tested for kitty diseases, I won’t allow her to meet Skye nose-to-nose. As for those shots, I have an appointment for her this afternoon.
Hubby basically “forbid” me to spend money on “that cat” but I’m borrowing something else from NCIS—the original this time. Gibbs’ rule (can somebody tell me which number it is?) “It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.” Besides, if he wants to start telling me what I’m allowed to spend my personal mad money on, he’s going to get a lot of opinions from me on how he spends HIS.
Okay, I should mention he still stops what he’s doing to pet her. And he admits that she’s very well behaved. He just thinks she should be well behaved in someone else’s house.
Heh heh heh.