There is a cat sitting outside on my porch. He is a gorgeous, long haired black cat with beautiful green eyes. My contemplating opening the door and feeding him a can of tuna is yet another reason why my husband hates me (we have two cats already, one recently found exactly where the black cat is now sitting.) I would take a picture, but I broke the button off my camera and have to get it to Best Buy to have it repaired.
He is howling.
My cats are going, shall we say, apeshit.
I don't know if it is a love connection or if they are wanting to do battle, but I have two cats riveted at the window (along with a transfixed two year old). I would open the door but I fear that bringing these feline and young boy elements together would create a perfect storm of fur and claws and blood and booboos and band-aids, and probably a trip to the vet as well.
But he is howling. He is beautiful. I could love him.
Poor kitty.
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