This little kitty parked itself in our garage last week while I was pulling the car in. We’d just come from the grocery store and I’d finished unloading the car, herding the boys inside, closing the garage door, and was stuffing the milk into the ‘fridge when I heard the sound. MEOW!! Activity in the kitchen slammed to a halt and Jackson, eyes wide and Oreos forgotten, goes “what. was. that??”
I wretched open the foyer door and in darts the cat. I guess “MEOW!!” was kitty code for “Let me in, please. Thank you.” Of course, the boys are immediately clamoring for it, Jackson erupting into “We have a cat?!?! You got us a cat?!?” with Jonathan chiming in “SOO CUTE, Mommy!”
It was two minutes of havoc, while I’m trying to keep the cat sequestered in the kitchen, screaming “Don’t touch! DON’T TOUCH!”
please note: I’m a little paranoid about stray cats from back when I worked in the kennel section of the humane society. All those years I was never once bitten by a dog, but I have permanent scars on my hands from the cats. So obviously my goal was to get this cat back out the door without risking my fingers.
We shooed it into the garage easily enough, and there it planted on top of the RAV’s back tire. No amount of scolding, pleading, or broom threatening would budge it. I even let Tucker out, in hopes the kitty would run scared. No such luck. Tucker took one look and darted back into the kitchen, tail tucked. Can you say SISSY?
So naturally I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do: I grabbed my camera.
And then I spent an ungodly amount of time coaxing the cat out of the garage with a can of tuna. Thank goodness for tuna.