A Cat With No Name

by Steve Mitchell

Okay, we have a cat now.  He was a feral kitten too gentle and sweet to be released after he was caught and fixed.

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His whiskers are whiter than mine…

He was given to Lucie’s boss but her boss had a jealous beagle, so the cat, then a kitten, became the office cat.

We’d cat-sit him over long weekends, and, eventually, over the holidays, he sort of became our cat.

It’s official; I guess.

His name was Ricky (as in Ricky Martin) but we don’t like that name for a cat.

Lucie always called him Abogato (a play on abogado which means attorney – it’s a law office).  That’s what we tend to call him, but it’s a mouthful.

So, we’re still trying to think of a name.

Anyhow.

He’s very dapper.

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The bowtie makes it.

 

And he’s very fluffy.

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Not so dapper…

 

And he gets along okay with the dogs.

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Not quite yet buddies.

 

And…he doesn’t quite have a name.

But, there’s no pressure.

He’s a cat.

It’s not like he’ll come when we call him.

He’s a cat.

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