The cute little Cub Scout down the street came by last night to peddle the latest fundraiser. I selected something decadent with caramel popcorn, almonds, cashews, and pecans. I’m taking bets if it will last beyond a day once it is delivered to Casa de la Flaming Bore next month. I started salivating just looking at the order form. After we talked business we talked cats, since Muffin, our blonde, blue-eyed diva, was making circles around his ankles. He fell for it and began petting her and talking to her.
“You wanna cat?” I asked.
His dad laughed. “We have plenty.”
“How many do you have?” I asked the cute cub.
“Five. One inside and four outdoors.”
“Yikes! Never mind. That’s enough.”
I’ve come to the conclusion that St. Nicholas Street, our street, has been identified as a safe haven drop-off spot for all things feline in our town. At six blocks long, it has become a cat magnet. My theory is that the roaming fuzz balls see the word “St. Nicholas” and think Santa Claus, gifts, and good cheer. And, after all, isn’t St. Nicholas the patron saint of cats? Hmmmm. I think so :)
If you’re a homeless cat, or if you’re a cat shopping for a better home than what you have, or if you’re just a good scout selling sweet treats, come on over. This is Easy Street.
1 comment:
hmmmm i will remember that the next time I step in cat puke.
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