(Now before you think I'm an animal hater, I should clarify that I'm not. I've always loved animals, and even briefly worked as a supervisor at a teeny county animal shelter, before my son was born. My plate is just too full right now, and I have no desire to take on the additional responsibility of another pet. And we all know mom usually gets to do all the work, right?)
So anyway, Boots went to live with a coworker of my husband, who loves cats and has several, and it seemed like a good deal all around. We found a presumably good home for the cat, and we were off the hook, so to speak.
The other day the coworker informed my husband that she was going to be moving, and couldn't take the cat, and did we want to take him back? My husband didn't want to say no, since he knows all too well what happens to most cats that end up at the shelter. (We were both pretty traumatized by that aspect of my shelter experience.) So he said we'd take him back.
Last night, C picked up the cat (now named Toby,) and we were mortified to see that he is COVERED in fleas, and painfully skinny. Argh. We gave him a bath, combed him with a flea comb, and banished him to the garage for a couple of days until the Capstar I ordered from Amazon gets here. He's currently hiding in some junk in the garage, understandably put out about his bath late last night.
You know that saying about how if you love someone, you should let them go, and if they come back, it's meant to be? I guess this means we have to keep the cat, huh? He is pretty cute, and a lot more tame this time around...
L is ecstatic.
I'll try to get a picture of him, as soon as he comes out of hiding.