So, Mr. Fix-It and I were trying to watch TV the other night and kept hearing a baby crying. Now, we’ve heard lots of babies crying over the last few years. Baby humans, baby sheep (which sound disturbingly like baby humans), baby cows, baby chickens…
…Honestly, after about 9 pm I’ve learned to tune it out unless it’s unquestionably human or it’s March (which means it’s lambing season). But it just went on and on…so finally we turned off the TV and got out the flashlight.
Low and behold…
We have a new visitor.
Besides the fact that my arms are permanently scarred and we own stock in Star-Kiss as proof of our new-found devotion to hauling our half-feral barn cats to the SNiP van, the constant crying was a clear indication of someone who was not where they belong. Not to mention all the hissing from those who do think they belong here.
There’s a Murphy’s Law about owning barn cats (which I didn’t know about before we owned barn cats) which says that if you feed an outside cat in the country, it will immediately tell all it’s friends and relatives east of the Mississippi and south of the Mason-Dixon line to come over for a free meal and a warm bed. Cats that are “not where they belong” are a dime a dozen in the country.
And apparently so are blond-haired suckers for 4-legged orphans.
