Douglas? Here, Douglas! Here, Douglas!

Bob, Ginger and I discussed it at length. I still thought it would show hospitality to invite our new friend in from time to time. The fellows voted together, and voted emphatically, “NO!” Bob cited fleas, cat hair and vet bills. Ginger just said, “NO!” We compromised on the breakfast bar.

            I the next morning around six when I opened the back door, Douglas was on the top step. Talk about kitty intuition. This worked fine for several days. Douglas and I  got friendlier and friendlier. He even let me brush him and cut out some really knarly hair wads.

            One afternoon I was giving him an illicit snack, when my neighbor from the garage apartment behind our house strolled by. M. and I discussed our mutual friend. Turns out M. doesn’t have the compunctions of Bob and Ginger, he’s been inviting Douglas in. What’s more, M. is a waiter at a good restaurant and allowed that most nights he checks with the chef about leftovers. Douglas may be having dry cat food for breakfast, but he dines well at night. M. and I left it that Douglas is a community cat. We even talked about getting him a lion cut to take care of the remaining hair wads.

            Then last Saturday, Douglas disappeared. “Douglas? Here, Douglas!” “Here, Douglas!” Nothing. Several times I strolled around the block to see if he’d wandered back to his old digs. “Here, Douglas!” Nothing. Oh, dear. I hoped for the best and feared the worst.

            I still looked out every morning. This morning, there he was, nose pressed against the backdoor, looking aggravated that I was a little late with breakfast. I brought an extra helping. That was good, because Douglas invited a friend. (More about the local covey of feral cats another time.) M. is at work now and has promised an extra special dinner.

            

Ginger still maintains the breakfast bar is fine, but he is and always will be the one and only cat of the house. Sorry! King of the house.