Retired in Delaware found himself visited by the Black Dog of Depression the other day. That can be almost as bad as being hounded by the Hounds of the Baskervilles I understand. Such beasts have tracked down The Little Woman many times in her life. It isn't a pleasant thing.
Ron seems to be recruiting cats to hiss and claw away the Black Dog, so here is another cat trying to cheer him up.
This little guy, Kerouac (yes, named for the "Beat" writer), a few months ago was on the road himself. Do not know his history, but my son and his co-workers found this tiny kitten huddled beneath the carts outside their store.
He had apparently been hiding out there a couple days. My son brought him home and here he is.
If he wasn't here, he would have probably died, either from starvation, because he was skinny and famished when we took him in, or run over by the many cars in the parking lot of that mall.
He is the cutest little rascal, who nows likes to sleep in the crook of my arm when he isn't finding something new to play with.
He had headed to this bed when we took him in and I guess he considers it his and compared to sleeping beneath a house in freezing weather, who cares if it is a bit snug.
Cats always know who the big softie is.