You've met my cat Margaret, a white Siamese mix who likes to sometimes keep me company in my garden; always at my computer.
Margaret's buddy is Bob, a 20 lbs gray/black and white cat who sits at windows and lets me know when there's something interesting in the garden, especially when Cousin George the raccoon is on the deck drinking out of hummingbird feeders.
Bob was a tottering teenage cat when he ran up to me at a neighboring town's park, long skinny legs and huge ears, all covered in ticks, grateful for anything to eat but wary of any and all contact.
Several flea baths later, some bland food every couple of hrs and a huge dose of patience and love over the months - Bob at first suction-cupped himself to the under carriage of my car - and lots and lots and lots of fresh catnip, Bob now seems happy living the inside life. He prefers it, sitting at an open door to an enclosed deck, most often choosing to stay inside close to his favorite blue ribbon and blanket. He'll venture out next to me as long as nothing else moves too fast.
A Bob sighting is fodder for conversation for days. Several pet sitters have never actually seen him; one still contends he doesn't exist. A relative spent part of his vacation working through my closets trying to find where a "big cat" might hide.
Any inferences to majestic cats, wild cousins or referring to him as "Bobcat," as my vet relishes reminding me, is miss-marketing. The only thing wild about this cat is when he has to go to the vet for a check up. After madly wrestling the cat carrier, he hides under my arm howling in a soul-searing wail.
Bob may be a handful for anyone else but he trusts me implicitly. It's a gift I cherish every time he pats my nose with his big white mitten of a paw.
I wish I could show you how beautiful he is, but you'll have to settle for what everyone else gets to see. If they're lucky.
Charlotte
Gardening to Distraction on a MO Hill
