I have a pet cat. Well, she’s sort of my cat. She lives outside, and I feed her. I also got her spayed, which is a bit of an intimate thing to do to a cat that doesn’t belong to me…so I suppose she’s mine. Her name is Jenny. Genevieve, but we call her Jenny.
She showed up in the garage last winter with two wee kittens tucked into our bike trailer, and I liked her because she was such a dedicated mother. We found other homes for the kittens and got Jenny’s “baby bed taken out” (as I explained it to the kids), and Jenny hung around. Cat food doesn’t cost that much, and she’s independent of my care in every other way.
It was a summer evening the first time we heard the metal food bowl getting shuffled around the concrete patio after dark. We got ourselves a bonus pet.
I don’t know if the hedgehog is a he or a she, nor does it have a name (yet–any ideas?). But if the food bowl is left on the ground it’s a regular visitor. I like it. Like Jenny, it’s independent and low maintenance. “Independent, low maintenance, AND prickly….just like you!” my parents cackled over skype. Yeah, maybe. I like skunks too….