The first scorpion...

Well, I guess either summer has arrived very early up here in the hills, or that first scorpion is way ahead of his coming-out-of-hibernation date.  JD told us today that they were surprised to see that scorpion, given the fact that we've only just begun to resume our normal 'winter' temperatures up here.  (It was 79 degrees today, 77 yesterday.... my kind of winter.)

The orange cat... still following me from one end of the yard to the other, at times using his claws to swipe my leg, mostly catching his claws in my jeans, but every once in a while giving me a nice scratch. That stupid cat definitely does not want to be ignored, but I can't trust him, even after all these many months. In my mind, he's still a stray cat. (Along with the fact that I do not (do NOT) want another cat.)

My friend V laughs when I call him a stray. "Give that up! He's YOUR cat! He's been there over a year now!"  Indeed he has, but only because I can't catch him and get him to the shelter. If he were indeed "my cat," he'd be fixed and vaccinated, and not roaming around the hills for days on end before deciding to come to our porch for a Meow Mix fix.  As it is, friend JS has recently discovered a mama cat and two kittens living under her garden shed. For all I know, the orange stray cat is the father of those two kittens. That's probably where the orange cat goes when we don't see him here for days... further on up the hill to JS's property, to visit his kitty-mama and the kittens. And for all I know, he's been impregnating every female cat within twenty miles of our house.

To my friend V: that orange stray cat is not my cat. Even though you have suggested a name for him ("Pumpkin Lawrence") that does not mean that I have to claim him as my own. I have never met such an ill-tempered and belligerent cat.  All of the cats I've had over the years have had very good manners (AngelBoy was the exception there) and they've all been as affectionate as puppies (AngelBoy was affectionate only to me and my dad).

That orange cat takes First Place for bad manners, bad temper, bad, bad, bad everything else. And if he wouldn't howl on my porch when he's hungry, I would have quit feeding him months and months ago. I just couldn't stand the excessive howling, and couldn't stand the thought of that stupid cat going hungry.

Sooner or later, I'm going to catch that cat and drive him to the shelter. Or, as I told my friend V, I can box him up and ship him via UPS to her home in Colorado.

And another thing.... "Pumpkin Lawrence?"  What kind of name is that for a cat? Give me a blessed break.