The saga of Alex Cat continues. After ten days, he's back again. This time, its clear that who ever was watching after him the last time he went walkabout did not do so this time. Sunday afternoon, I heard a meow, and Jennifer K. said, "Isn't that Alex?" I say nah, and go feed the little grey stray I see next door. I get there, and yep, it's Alex, my previously brownish big kitty, looking much the worse for wear. Much tearful reunioning, and so forth. . . .

Today, I took Alex to the vet, as he seems to have lost a great deal of weight in this last exploit. I mention to Dr. Brenda that Kelty Kitten (gotten when I thought Alex was a goner last time) is a charmer with people, but frankly, he's a bully with Alex. Won't let him eat, shit or sleep without being right in his face. Makes me kinda not like the little brat, ya know? (Flashbacks of grade school, perhaps.) Dr. Brenda (the best vet in town, by the way) tells me that the best solution is--wait for it--another kitten. One of which, for free, she happens to have right here.
No. No. No, no no no no no. No!

So, Alex and I come home with our new kitten and Scott is already home from work. I didn't even have a chance to come up with my story, other than to tell him what Dr. Brenda told me: a new kitten will be able to tolerate Kelty's harrassing energy better than a broke down million-year-old cat like Alex. Well, we're trying it, even though Jennifer K. seems to think I've been suckered, somehow. Harvey (for that's his new name) is a loaner and I can take him back in few days if it doesn't work out.

I am now one boyfriend and 3 cats away from being the Cat Lady of Dearborne Street. (Like you always predicted, Wally and Greggy.)