Mow the Cat Part I

During my stay with Dad, we were adopted. It was out of the clear blue, and certainly not something we were expecting. A cat moved in, bringing with him very little baggage, but a very sweet and friendly purr and a taste for cantaloupe. I had two cats of my own that I didn’t get to see while I was with Dad and I missed having something furry around the house. At first, the orange cat appeared on the deck every day, peering in the sliding doors, meowing enticingly, sidling in when the doors were opened. I made a little bed for him on the deck, and left a bowl of food out.
“What are you doing?” Dad asked, coming upon me as I was making a little nest with old towels and blankets.
“I’m just making a little bed for that cat that’s been around,” I said. Just then, the orange cat jumped up on to the deck and began to wind himself enticingly around our ankles. Dad gave a little kick of disgust as the cat twined around his leg.
“Don’t do that, it’ll just encourage him.” He watched grumpily as the cat made its way into the kitchen, purring as it inspected the house. “Just don’t let it into my room.” he said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him out of your room.” I said. “I just think he’s so sweet.”
For a few weeks, Dad continued to express disgust and indifference toward the cat. Gradually, insidiously, the cat began to work his way into Dad’s affections, while sleeping on me at night and keeping me company.