The barn has acquired a new kitten, a little adolescent tortoiseshell charmer with gold eyes and the tentative name of Calamari, to go with the current lads, Ratatouille and Vermi(n)celli. She's on house arrest until her vet appointment later this week, but in the meantime the boys have stepped up their mousing game, bringing her two almost-but-not-quite-dead mice. Chewie and Celli are neutered but still chivalrous, and of course how could they be otherwise in a barn? Calamari is personable enough, and she's very fond of chasing the furry end of a dressage whip, but she's less interested in cuddling with people than the boy cats are, possibly because she's a rescue case. The barn is a sweet gig for any cat, what with the freedom to roam about and the prospect of epic numbers of mice on which to prey, and doubly so for one who was in danger of being abandoned to the mercies of the elements.
Apropos of her story, the New York Times just ran an article on Rescue Ink, a band of tattooed do-gooders who focus on helping dogs and cats in bad situations. I defy anyone to go through the accompanying slide show of big scary-looking biker guys cuddling small pets without being stricken with awwww. To paraphrase Jessica Rabbit, these guys aren't bad—they're just drawn that way.
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