His name is… SquirrelSince the departure of our much-beloved Frances, the milliner and I have considered getting another pet. In fact, perhaps two pets, if only so they don't get lonely during those hours when we're not home. We're special that way.
Naturally, I wanted another Maine Coon, but was open to suggestions. And, of course, a dog. Something big. That slobbers all over you. And takes up half the bed. And is way too huge to require much exercise. But first of all, a cat.
So, relying on a certain yulblogger's suggestion, we headed out to SPCA Montérégie, a non-euthanasia shelter. Looked around one of the cat rooms, were attacked (in a friendly way, mind you) by some cats, smelled at by others, and completely ignored by the rest. One cat was sleeping, woke up when we got near, and latched on when we picked him up, nuzzling on ear lobes and hugging us madly. So, we told the folks we wanted him, paid, and left him for the week while he was to get another vaccination. And, therefore, I present, Squirrel.
Tiny little thing, a bit of a complainer, but not loud at all. He just requires a lot of love. His name, apparently, comes from the fact that he was found under a bird feeder, trying to jump up to get the seeds. Of course, if ever we get another pet, we have to call it "Moose," but with a Russian accent.
BTW, if anyone is thinking of adopting a(nother) pet, really, go to the SPCA Montérégie: they especially need help these days.