|under the kitchen table|
There is still some grumbling on the part of Mr Macc, whilst Miss Ming is inquisitive and neutral, as long as She doesn't get to my sardines first.
We think Beowulf is a Norwegian Forest Cat, but we may be wrong. According to wiki-wisdom, this breed is famous for its ability to climb and jump, and although faithful and affectionate, is free-spirited and outdoors-loving. Hmmmmmm
Since she moved in on Saturday, she has not left the house. I hope she discovered the cats' bathroom on her earlier explorations. I open doors for her and invite her outside, but she meows sweetly and walks away. Thank you, but I prefer it here.
As you can see, she is really a feral cat and has never been domesticated:
And she doesn't much like cuddles:
|too bad you can't hear my purrrrrrr|
Beowulf is rightly wary of Macc and spends most of her time in the kitchen and laundry. I discovered her hiding place this morning, squeezed in behind the washing machine. Under all that fur she is pretty slim and well, Mr Macc is rather a fatso, even though he has been on a 'diet' for about two years. He can't squeeze behind the washing machine and I'm not sure he has figured out that is where Wolfe goes.
As for the wounds ...
I finally realised that the redness I was worried about was my reaction to the fancy dressings my nurse-neighbour used. The redness has perfectly straight edges, which would be odd for an infection. And it is itchy. Ergo, dermatitis from surgical adhesive? The four deep puncture wounds are closing up - one of them has disappeared and the other three are improving daily. No need to amputate at this juncture thank goodness.
As for the rest of our living arrangements ... it is truly a stupid time to adopt another cat when our lives are in limbo. Marius' contract ends in February and he is currently in the crowd looking for re-deployment. Many debates are underway, yet strangely the wisdom or otherwise of inviting Beowulf in has not arisen. Odd.