Years ago, we acquired a big, fat, fluffy grey kitten. She was the cutest little puffball, so we named her “Puff”. A few weeks later, we noticed a couple of symmetrical protuberances near her tail – turns out “she” was a “he”….
Well, no self-respecting male cat wants to be called “Puff”, so we did the next best thing and renamed him.
Time went on, and Puff Daddy lived up to his new streetwise name – he was a big purr baby, but he had a street fighter’s attitude when things didn’t go his way. We acquired other cats, and he wasn’t too happy about that, so we all came to an agreement: he liked the free and easy life of an outdoor cat and was perfectly happy when we just left food and water out for him and he was able to come and go as he pleased.
It’s been quite a while – as in MONTHS - since I saw P Diddy (gotta have a name with some street cred, dontcha know?), and I just assumed that he had either found a new family or gone to that great Mouse Hunt in the sky.
So when I heard a piteous caterwauling on our back porch yesterday morning, I thought for sure one of the neighbor’s cats had poached on our other cats’ food supply.
But lo and behold, there was Puff – it’s summertime, so he’s slimmed down to his “fighting weight” (actually, he’s a little thinner than he should be); he’ll plump right back up as winter draws near, though.
He insisted on coming inside, and he’s minding his manners for now – as long as he does, he can stay in the house.
(One of the other reasons that he was put outside in the first place is because he had a bad habit of “marking” everything in sight. The minute we smell that distinctive odor, he is back out in the wild – Paul absolutely will not tolerate it; neither will I.)
Right now, he and Bailey (the granddog) are attempting to come to an “understanding” – Bailey thinks that Puff looks like a fun chew toy; Puff thinks that Bailey’s nose needs some more holes in it.
It was an interesting evening…..