So, Monday night was cold and we felt sorry for the kitten and wanted to bring him/her into the house.
The teenager had reached the point where we could briefly touch it, with a casual poke. With my daughter’s permission, I grabbed the kitten and brought him/her in the house.
He/she didn’t like that. Poor dear hissed and carried on. I wasn’t prepared for how bad he smelled. He squirmed free and hid under the Christmas tree.
The teenager played video games and went to bed.
The big cats crawled in bed with me.
In the morning, the kitten was gone. I checked all the cat hiding spaces I could think of and no cat.
And the basement door was open.
The teenager and I tore the house apart for what seemed hours. She was bereft. I felt guilty.
I made lunch.
Then we suddenly walked through the dining room and the cat was sitting on the porch looking at us.
Just like a cat. No where to be found one minute and sitting there as if he had never gone.
The teenager spent New Year’s Eve with her grandparents (and I went out for drinks with some girlfriends, something I’ve never gotten to do before).
When I got up this morning I found kitten, whom the teenager has aptly named Mistofelees, sitting inside the dollhouse. Later I found him on top of the dollhouse. And a few moments ago I found him on the windowsill.
Progress is being made.
To help with his smell, we bought some Burt’s Bees Dry Shampoo for cats. Which, of course, we tested on Big Dumb Oz.
Just now… the kitten stalked across the porch and checked out Opie.