A case of mistaken identity

I just spent five minutes trying to coax the wrong cat to come in out of the rain.

No, really.

The more bored among you may remember a post from September last year, when I was temporarily bamboozled by another, slightly smaller, black cat who'd started to hang out in my garden. Cos the thing about black cats, right, is they all look bloody identical, particularly when they're huddling next to a garden chair and slightly sodden. Perhaps I should have twigged when it jumped several inches at the sound of my voice and then stared, huge eyed, at me as I desperately rattled the biscuit bowl. "But surely," you're thinking, "your own cat would have come in straight away out of the rain on you appearing with the biscuit bowl? How can you be so stupid as to think this wigged out feline was yours?" Mainly because a) my cat is fairly stupid and such behaviour is quite normal and b) it turns out that my cat was actually on the other side of the door, hiding by the barbeque, and not bothered at all by the rain or the biscuit bowl.

Then he put in an appearance and slid past my legs.

Don't I feel foolish.

Especially since there's now this other cat who thinks I want it in my house because I've been waggling food bowls at it. For the forseeable future I shall have to look very carefully for the tell-tale signs of batteredness* whenever an animal wanders in the back door.

* Ripped ear, several missing teeth, massive wobbly gut. My cat is awesome.

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