Hi Kitten,
I have known many cat lovers. I myself am a lover of cats. Yet I have never encountered anyone with a greater affinity for felines than you, which reveals the inspiration for the nickname I gave you. At times, I wonder if there isn't a trace of feline blood flowing through your veins. That's why I wanted to share with you the story of one of my cats — the one I named Hobo.
There are two behaviors I especially love in a cat. The first is the way a cat will flop over at your feet for a good petting. The other is the way a cat, especially a large male, will move up close and then lower his head and bang it against you, as a sign of affection — oh, those amorous head bangers. Hobo was just such a cat.
Hobo's Tale - Just Passing Through
Part 2: Friends After All
Hobo may have rejected my attempt to touch him, but he didn't object to my providing him a warm place to bed down and fresh milk for breakfast. Leaving the garage door open yet another night had done the trick. This time, I opened the inside garage door with a dish of milk in hand. There he was, waiting patiently. He moved forward without fear this time. Perhaps he had proven to himself that he could put me in my place if he needed to. Or maybe he had the evening to think things over and realized that he had overreacted. Naw, that's giving him too much credit.
I had the evening to think things over, as well. In retrospect, I suppose it was a stupid decision to ignore the possibility of rabies. I don't know if fear of the shots or my instincts about cats had the greatest influence on my course of action. I decided to keep Hobo around for as long as possible with offers of food. I was convinced that he just needed some time to learn to trust me.
"So I startled you yesterday, did I?" I said aloud. "Shouldn't have come up behind you like that. Got what I deserved, right?" I'm quite sure Hobo was listening, perhaps even understanding, but his focus was on the milk, so I let him drink. When he finished, he sat there, licking his paw as if he hadn't a care in the world. This was my chance. I put my hand slowly forward, this time with the back of my hand toward him and below his head, as if offering it for his consideration.
"Well what do you know," I said as he came forward and pushed his head against the back of my hand. "You're a head banger, aren't you?" He rubbed his face against my hand, then he lowered his head for a good scratch. I was kneeling on the floor. Deciding to check me out, he walked around me, rubbing his shoulder against my right side, pressing against my back and nearly knocking me over as he leaned up against my left side for one last head scratch. All of a sudden, off he went across the street to hunt in the over-grown field.
"See you tomorrow, Hobo," I called after him, fully expecting that he would show up for breakfast in the morning. "Would you prefer cream instead of milk?" He glanced back over his shoulder and I would have sworn he nodded his head in the affirmative. Naw......
Kitten, in the next part of my story, Hobo meets our dog Ginny.
Love you,
Grandpa
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