It occurs to me that I haven’t written about the care and feeding of my stray cat, Christopher Robin, lately. For any of you who have been anxiously awaiting an update, be anxious no more. (I’m sure there must be at least one of you – right??? If not, humor me.)
For those of you who might be newcomers to Inkspots, Christopher Robin is the offspring of Saint Francis, the first stray to venture onto my porch for dinner. This was several years ago when Saint Francis was not much more than a kitten. She had been roaming around the neighborhood for a month or so when she lay down on our front walk one hot summer day, looking ever so weary and overheated. I put out some water for her, but she fled at the sight of me.
Next day I put some water and food out on our open side porch and within minutes she appeared and nervously ventured up the steps for her first MacDonald meal. She became a regular at our outdoor dining cafe, eating happily but never letting me near her. I named her Saint Francis because St. Francis of Assisi is one of my favorites, mainly because he loved animals and is always pictured holding a fawn, with rabbits or squirrels or whatever resting at his feet. I was assuming the feline Saint Francis was a boy but when he appeared with three kittens one day, I surmised he was a she (I’m quick that way).
However, I was loathe to change the spelling of her name to the feminine Frances because . . . well, just because. The three kittens she brought to dinner were Christopher Robin, Hansel and Gretel. Fast forward to today, the only remaining diner at Chez MacDonald is Christopher Robin. He’s grown into an ever-so-fluffy gray cat with green eyes and a sweet face. I ran a picture of him in this column awhile ago, but it was taken through a window and screen, so didn’t really do him justice.
Now I’m happy to report Christopher Robin is sharing his vittles while dining with a lovely gold and white cat whose name, I’m pretty sure, is Goldilocks. “Sharing” may be a slight exaggeration, as they never appear at the same time. Once I watched Goldilocks chow down in a very unladylike manner on what I had put out, then right after she’d gone, Christopher Robin appeared and looked quite aggrieved at the paltry amount of food she had left him. So I refilled his dish while he watched from a safe distance. He’s a little bolder now about coming near me when I put out the food, but I think that’s only because he wants to be sure he gets to it before Goldilocks.
I never told Ivy Scarlett, the German Shepherd Bing and I adopted from a rescue organization, about Saint Francis and brood. I didn’t want her to be jealous. Now that she has gone to heaven (our pets do go there, y’know – I have no doubts about that and neither should you), I also haven’t told Seamus, my newly adopted German Shepherd, for the same reason. He watches closely when I set out the cat food and I think he may suspect something, but I assure him I’m just feeding birds. It’s okay to tell white lies when it’s done to avoid hurt feelings. I’m pretty sure it says that in the Bible somewhere.
If it doesn’t, it should.
That’s your theology lesson for today.
A pop quiz may follow, so be sure to study.
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