See my sweet little angel face?
That was him as a kitty. Country Man and I picked him up from the vet clinic after learning of his accident with a fan blade.
He was shy at first.
And then he wasn’t.
He adapted quickly to the farm, but it wasn’t long before his adventures landed him in the vet clinic again.
His antics brought out the mother in me, and I swooned and kissed and carried him around, sweet-talking him during medicine injections.
So it was no surprise to see him hobble over to me the other day, meowing with the same determination of a wild child looking for his momma to make it all right.
And lucky for my not-so-little kitty (he is well-known among the Mice Clan), our vet friend was with me as we prepared for a day of shopping, and she determined the gashes and blood were from a cat fight.
I knew just who it did it, too.
The orange, stubby-tailed tom cat who lurks around the farm and is about as gentle-spirited as a cornered mountain lion.
I ain’t going near him.
So we’re back to me waiting for the meow meow meow as he limps toward me from the barn, scooping him up and sweet-talking as I shoot $20 worth of liquid antibiotics down his throat.
As for our first farm cat, she’s been as clean as a whistle since the day she arrived. Has hardly cost us a penny.
Maybe she can teach him a thing or two about farm safety?