The Mouser

A few months back, I realized that my life lacked something fuzzy.

I don't wear fur and I am not particularly furry. My boys are not particularly furry or fuzzy and would probably object to sitting on my lap. Come to think of it, I would object to them sitting on my lap because they would smush me.

Not only did I lack something fuzzy, no one comes to greet me at the door when I get home. When I get home, there are three people with eyes as wide as saucers staring at me because I am the only person who can (pick two)...feed them... find their socks... fix the broken zipper...turn on the lights...find lost things....make time stand still. I need someone who is happy to see me and who really just needs a pat on the head and someone to shed on.

Enter- the Mouser, or as he is formally known, Duncan Kitty.

He's a happy two year old rescue kitty from the Humane Society. Want to hear the best news? He has not eaten the squirrel (our guinea pig), yet. Besides that, he is very happy when I come home and never, ever asks me to find his lost stuff.

I attached a little collar to him with a bell so I can hear him sneaking up on me. He has objected and I often come home to find the collar on the floor. This morning I noticed that he was appearing and disappearing at will and without my express knowledge. Alas, the collar was gone again. He followed me around while I looked for it without ever letting on that he might know where it is. As of this writing, it is still missing and I'm certain that he did it purposefully to make sure I know who's actually in charge.

Regardless, I have my furry, fuzzy door greeter even if I can't hear him.