All right. I admit it. Maybe Scruffy Gray is homeless. Last night, immediately after I finished my last post, Craig yelled for me to get off the computer and come downstairs. I tore down the stairs and ran straight to the sliding glass door. Standing on the other side of the screen was Scruffy Gray. It was 9 p.m. and 32 degrees outside. Craig said he flipped on the side light and he heard Scruffy scramble out from beneath the deck and run to the door.
Heather took some kibble outside to entice Scruffy back into the garage. He didn't need much enticing. Heather shook the plate of kibble once from behind the house and Scruffy ran over and beat her to the garage.
It got down to 26 degrees last night so I'm sure Scruffy appreciated being in the (relatively) warm garage instead of under the cold, damp deck. Craig took me out to check on him last night and he did look scruffy and hungry. He scarfed every last piece of dry kibble. Vacuum cleaner kitty.
I guarded the door to the garage and listened for any signs that Scruffy needed help. OK, it wasn't completely altruistic. I did get a tuna treat for being so good. What can I say? I know how to work it.
Scruffy walked back and forth between Heather and Craig this morning purring them a loud thank you for letting him stay again. Will he hang around long enough today so Heather and Craig can take him to the shelter or will he take off and return before bed? Maybe Scruffy likes his freedom. Maybe he's a barn kitty. Maybe he'll take over our garage.
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