Closing a Chapter
This morning, the rabies-threat chapter of my life story came to a close. Yesterday, the lady from the department of health phoned to check on me and announced she was closing the case. This morning the fellow from animal control came to take a look at Moochie. I opened the basement door. Mooch ambled out of his nest and yawned. The animal control guy said, “Good enough for me.”
Moochie is free. But he’s still in the basement. His prison has turned into a bed and breakfast. I opened the door to let him out and he looked at me as if to say, “Surely you can’t be serious.”
So for the time being, we have a basement cat. He’s finally learned to use the litter box. It only took nine of his ten days confinement to figure it out. Guess he decided if his status as house guest was going to continue beyond what was mandatory, he’d better get with the program.
I have no idea what to do with him. Skye and Kensi have found a common cause. Neither one of them want another cat. Besides, his tendency to bite feet—hard—make him a less than ideal house pet. Especially for a mostly barefoot yoga gal such as myself.
I hate to just turn him loose into the world again, though. His wounds from his tom cat battles are only now starting to heal.
Yes, I know. I could have him neutered. And that will likely happen. But it won’t stop him from getting beat up. It’ll only stop him from starting the fight. Maybe.
Ishmael (may the old boy rest in peace) never lost his killer instincts even a decade after having his manhood nipped in the bud. He’d pounce on any cat that wasn’t on his official “approved” list. Kept the strays at bay. But it played havoc on my vet bills.
Ah, Moochie. Our rabies-threat chapter may have closed, but goodness only knows what the next page holds.