Feral Friday

Enough of this sex talk and googling (dirty!)--we want to hear about the continuing saga of Dolly and McBeady! Or so I choose to imagine you might be saying. Well, all right--if you insist. (Ahem.)

Well, McBeady continues to be a frequent overnight visitor, often staying in bed until well past noon. Lazy! He's learning to tolerate my presence, and a couple of days ago...he let me pet him! He didn't seem thrilled about it, but he didn't run away, so I guess we're making progress. I have ulterior motives, of course. He doesn't need those little fuzzy dice hanging down back there. Hee. Poor McBeady--he has no idea what I'm planning for him. But the poor scruffy thing has scars all over his head and face from previous tomcat battles, and if he's going to be hanging around my house, I don't want him doing it with a giant, smelly abscess, which I would no doubt feel obligated to try and treat. So, you see, it's all for his own good.

Dolly continues to be a little lovemuffin. She just can't get enough petting. And she seems to have come to terms with both her affection for me and her affection for McBeady. She's no longer pretending not to know me when he's around, but goes back and forth between us, rubbing her head against first one, and then the other. When I open the blinds in the morning on the back windows, she's usually sitting on my grandmother's old wooden glider just outside, peering inside intently, as if to say "What's taking you so long?" Very cute. So it's all good.

Okay, now that I have relieved your burning curiosity on the feral cat front, I will take my leave. I need to come up with a great idea for a Monday post--as that will be the official six-month blogiversary of LizLand. Six whole months--that's like half a year! Hopefully I won't be so bleary-eyed in response to "springing forward" that I'm unable to form coherent sentences. Motherfrickin' Daylight Saving Time.