My Faithful Readers, I’d like you to meet my morning commute buddy, Dirt Pail.
I’ve intended to write about Dirt Pail for quite some time, but he is impossible to photograph. I’ve literally taken more than 30 photos of this guy and this is the only one that has even remotely turned out. He’s a speedy little dude. I figured that given the emotional situation Dirt Pail and I just went through this morning, today would be a good day to write about him.
Dirt Pail is a neighborhood cat that meanders the mean streets of our ‘hood.
He doesn’t have a collar and there are no “missing” posters adorned with his likeness, so it would seem that he’s a stray. Although he is super friendly and never really seems to venture beyond the borders of our neighborhood. This makes me think that perhaps he used to live here once upon a time or he’s got an owner who is a-okay with letting him roam free.
Given that he doesn’t look like he’s exactly suffering in his attempts to find sustenance, I think he may have convinced a few folks in the neighborhood to leave scraps out over the years.
Anyway, Dirt Pail and his monster paws often walk me about halfway to work and, as a result, we’re pretty good buds at this point.
That made it all that much harder the other day when Grace informed me that I probably have to stop petting and cuddling up with Dirt Pail (and Slop Bucket and Gizmo and all of the other neighborhood cats) once we get a cat of our own.
Somehow I hadn’t even though about the fact that street cats have a higher chance of carrying diseases, fleas, or other parasites that I could potentially bring back and inflict upon our future unsuspecting house cat.
I broke the news to Dirt Pail on our walk today.
I told him that we could totally still be friends and walk together, but I probably couldn’t be quite so lovey-dovey with him anymore.
Admittedly, he took it like a champ and just kept purring and rubbing up against my legs.
I fear he’s in denial.