Pete loves chasing feathers on a stick. Loves it. Begs for it all day long.
And when he catches the feather, he grips it in his teeth, lies down, rolls over onto his back and holds perfectly still, eyes wide open and staring at nothing. After a few seconds, he’ll sit up, take a step or two in some random direction, then the lie back down with the feather in his teeth. And he’ll keep doing this until I stop tugging on the string.
Master gave Petey clothes. Now Petey is free!
Pete literally sent me to the hospital last night. He bit me in the arm Tuesday PM when I was trying to break up a fight between him and Pepper. He’s bitten me plenty of times before, but this time the bite became infected. And now I get to take antibiotics and hope it doesn’t get worse.
He’s still a good kitty. He’s just got a tough side to him. We call him “Ditch Kitty” because we assume he was from a feral mother and spent his first few weeks on the hard streets of north Raleigh. He takes no shit, not even from someone six times taller than he is.
This happens everyday. And it always leads to a fight.
Pete hates the vacuum, so he’s hiding behind this candle on our back porch.