Last Monday, in the throes of sadness over the departure of Spitty only two days before, and feeling the emptiness in my house, I got a phone call from a woman I know from feeding the McChonkersons.
"Hi," she said hesitantly. "I know you just lost your kitty, but.... Well, I hope you don't feel this is insensitive, but we need a foster placement for a kitty whose devoted owner is not able to have Maggie with her for a month or two, and I was thinking...."
Honestly, I couldn't get the "Yes" out of my mouth fast enough. It was perfect--helping the kitty and her owner, and having a furry friend around to care for and talk to. She arrived Friday. A Transition Cat, so to speak.
Hmmm, we'll see. So far, so good. I am super-confused though. After being at the rescue place for 5 days and getting used to that, now I find myself in a stranger's bedroom! And I don't even remember getting all nipped out and picking somebody up in the backyard!
I had a rocky first night Friday, but yesterday my Real Mom came to visit me and so now I feel better. I am eating and getting pets and brushies and all in all, life could be worse. This lady seems okay, but I am withholding judgment till I've been here for maybe a full 48 hours!
This person assures me I will have a chance to talk some more in a few days. I mean, she seems trustworthy, right? I'm sure she would never make an empty promise!