Nash

So, Nash has been popping in regularly. After a lot of trial and error, I discovered that he likes tuna cat food, 9-Lives, and so I have a stack of cat food. When he pops in, I feed him. He comes into the kitchen, and keeps me company, but does not have access to the rest of the house yet. He is not neutered and I don't want him spraying around the house. This would only validate Tim's opinion that animals should not be allowed inside.

So, I feed him and I noticed that he is filling out nicely, which makes me happy.

I also noticed that for a stray cat, he's pretty darn picky about his food. For instance, he has turned up his nose at his tuna. Other times, he will gobble it down like it's gourmet.

I've been reminded anew what a fickle beast a cat is. Sometimes he will come to me to be petted. Other times, he looks at me as if he has never seen me before. I imagine that life as a stray makes a cat even more fickle though.

The plan is to get him neutered. I do not want to get him declawed until I am certain that he'll be content as an indoor cat. Like I said, he's got a peculiar nature that can go either way.

Today, we came home, and there was Nash. He darted into the garage, away from the car coming up the driveway. I got out of the car and called him. Tim looked at me strangely.

"What?"

"He just ran out the back of the garage. How'd he get out the back of the garage?" This was a very good question. There are no doors back there. If there is an exit big enough for a cat, we need to find it post haste. We have a coon hanging around, and I have trapped a possum out of here, not to mention a slew of red squirrels that we don't want getting in. They do a lot of damage.

I headed to the house to feed my cat. Tim headed to the back of his garage to find that egress.

He came to the house and he looked very unhappy. In a disgusted voice, he said, "There are two of 'em. Two long haired black cats. There's another one, a more skittish one that was hiding behind the garage."

Surprised, I looked down at Nash, who gazed up at me, blinking his inscrutable cat blink.

Well. Maybe it was Nash. Hard to tell.

It might have been his brother Crosby.

Anyways, he was the fatter cat. The friendly cat. The one who is not all that fond of tuna, as it turns out.