M’s walkabout

M was one of my first fosters. We loved him very much and apparently he loved us. Or at least, he loved Grant, and he didn’t want to be adopted. So he stayed with us for the rest of his life.

One time when Grant was making adjustments in the foster “suite”, it got a bit chaotic, so we moved M upstairs for the duration and shut him in to a spare room.

For your amusement today, here is the story he wrote about it:

note: the “extra screens” were to prevent bird strikes

“I was pondering the meaning of life, while sitting on the windowsill contemplating the patio.

Gradually, I became aware of a slight draught around my toes and of birdcalls wafting to my ears. “Look at him up there!” “Look at that big cat!” “Ha ha ha….he can’t get us…he’s trapped in there”. Well! I was a bit miffed.

 My nose followed the slight breeze and I discovered a teeny weenie little crack in the window. “M” is always up for a challenge and this was it! My paw fit perfectly into the crack and with a bit of huff and puff, I was able to slide the window open, only to hear hysterical cackling by those irritating birds: “Hor hor hor! HE thinks he’s coming out…..ho ho ho….he haven’t seen those special screens yet”.

Actually, I had, and I was busy working my way through them. Suddenly, a slight rip and a tear and “Ah hah hah hah….he thinks he can fly!!!!!” My head through the screen, I gazed at the patio and it was um, 15 feet down! But I was already committed by now and out I jolly well went, turning gracefully as can only a cat in the air, and landed with a thump on the patio, amid a great fluttering and flapping of wings and “Yo! Mate! Look at that! He made it!”

I confess I rather lost interest in the stupid birds at that point, being somewhat winded and realizing that I had just left the room where breakfast would soon be served, with no way I knew of to re-enter.

However, after a nice cool drink from the birdbath, which gave me great satisfaction, I felt very much refreshed and noticed that the area looked familiar. This was where the foster father had been taking me for walks and now, I knew everything was fine.

A day of missing breakfast would be good for my waistline. The air was cool and sweet and there were lots of lovely smells to check out, so I merely spent the day exploring the hill in the foster garden.

 Yes, I confess, I did vaguely hear the anxious cries “M? Mr. M? Here M!” Well, you know what they say…dogs will come when called and I am no dog! After a full day of chasing down mice and squirrels and all manner of good stuff, I curled myself up in a nice cool bed of ivy for a well-earned nap.

 I don’t know how much later I began to dream of fishes and chicken and bowls of kibble, but my nose was starting to twitch in anticipation and suddenly I heard again “M? Where’s my boy?” In my mind that was the dinner bell!

So, stretching slowly and deliberately so as not to seem too anxious, I pushed my head out of the ivy…”’”M”’! Oh “M”! Well, I couldn’t resist. I was ready not only for dinner but for a bit of loving, so I scampered down the hill and into foster father’s arms.

It is so good to be loved and wanted!  I was carried back in to my foster palace like a returning hero and within moments foster mother came flying in and threw herself around me.

My roommates couldn’t wait for the foster parents to leave to start quizzing “Where were you? What did you do? Who did you see? What’s it like out there these days?” All of which I answered in my own sweet time.

But first I tucked in to my dinner and a little kibble with a lick of water. I must say that birdbath tasted better!

He was such a lovely boy

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