How many cats make three?
Ever since Karen's lived here, we've kept up a nodding acquaintance with the neighbour's cat. We don't actually know that he's the neighbour's cat, but he's clearly on terms with the neighbour's dog, and it's a convenient shorthand, so that's what we call him. He used to hang out in our back yard and vanish when we appeared; then he stopped vanishing, and just kept his distance; then he discovered that we were convenient sources of scritches, and he became friendlier. At the start of the summer, he sat on my knee a time or two when I was reading on the garden bench.
The last couple of weeks, he's become friendlier yet: running over the lawn to greet us, perching on any knee available*, like that. He's very much an outdoor cat; he hasn't even tried to come into the clubhouse when the door's wide open, let alone the house proper. But he is now spending pretty much the whole day just hangin' in our yard.
We may have put out a bowl of water for him, and the occasional handful of kibble. No more than that. Oh, and a dose of FrontLine for his fleas.
Mac is outraged. He spends most of his day glowering through the window at the interloper. Once he got out, and fell upon the villain; neighbour-cat wisely scooted over the fence, and Mac was a moment short of following, only he delayed to eye the neighbour-dog, which gave me time to grab him. His tail was fluffed up in full bottle-brush, and he positively hissed at me.
Anyway. There he is, and that's mostly what's been going on hereabouts. He's not our cat, not actually; we don't even feed him on a regular basis. Yet. But we do need to have a chat with the neighbour, so. The subject might come up.
*For he is a total snugglebunny.