We have a new foster kitten, named LaRue for now.
We literally went out to eat prime rib and came home with little LaRue.
The restaurant, Tavern LaRue, is literally out in the middle of nowhere. It's on a country highway with trees and greenery all around. As we pulled up, we noticed a tiny kitten sitting along the edge of the road. We got out of our car intending to shoo the feral cat off the road, but the kitten made a bee-line for us.
As soon as I picked him up I knew he was not a feral cat. He rolled over, closed his eyes, and began to purr and knead the air in front of him. This was a house cat. Or rather a house kitten, as he looks to be about 8 weeks old.
We asked in the tavern if they knew him but they thought he had been dumped by someone. Isn't that nice? SO, we took a Budweiser box from the tavern-owner and plopped the kitten inside for the ride home.
I have two leads on new homes for him already, which is good because my poor horomone-driven heart wants to keep any stray infant that comes near me. Goodness knows I don't need two babies in the house at the same time!
I"ll upload images later, as blogger seems to not like me right now.