I've really been jonesing lately for a cat. Maybe it was hanging with my sister's cats at Thanksgiving, or my brother's at Christmas.
More likely, though, is that I've been hanging out lately with the meanest cat I've met since my Aunt Ellie's cat scratched my sister's eyeball when we were kids (trying to dislodge the cat from beneath the dresser).
I don't take it personally. The cat hates everyone, except its owner. But usually I have a way with even the crabbiest of cats. They eventually relent. I can walk down the street and cats on windowsills nearly bust the screens out trying to get to me. But this one is one tough nut. She hates me. Which I find irresistible.
Then this morning that little guy up there shows up on my back porch. He looked a little well-groomed for a stray, but he was super-skittish. I couldn't lure him with food, water or even my substantial charms.
Maybe I've lost my touch.
Oh, well. The last thing I really need is a cat anyway.