Meow meow meow (If you spoke cat you'd be laughing!)

Gatito has finally decided to bless us with his presence on occasion. (We've been having fits getting him to stay at the new house since it's only blocks away from his old stomping grounds.) The poor kitty is still alive, somehow, and has been showing up every now and then to allow us to feed him. I think he's a bit intimidated by some of the other cats on our street, but now he can see that we are prepared to defend him. This is my husband's Wrist Rocket from childhood, ready with ammo for that fiendish tom cat who tries to come over and pick a fight. Ha! Imagine the fear on that little furry terrorist's face when he comes face to face with a grown man bearing a slingshot. It's like our own little David and Goliath here, except this time David's ten times bigger. (Goliath is still the aggressor, you see, he just happens to be little and fuzzy.)



Mim just had to watch Gatito eat his supper yesterday afternoon. She was supposed to leave him alone, but she kept coming in to get spoons and bowls. Finally I had to bring her inside and try to explain how kitties do not need spoons and do not like eating goldfish crackers and raisins.