Hanging with Fred

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Fred

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February 1, 2014
Since I turned Fred, my wandering neutered Tom, into an indoor kitty, I feel obligated to spend time with him. He is content to sit near me and purr away. As long as I don’t make any sudden motions. He hates it when I drink anything, especially out of my Army mug, a gigantic black ceramic mug. It scares him. He is a sweet cat, gets along with other cats and dogs. He especially likes to swat a dog just to remind them who is Alpha. He does not like other people and will bolt. Even my friend John Mills, the Cat Whisperer, can get Fred out from under the bed. I don’t know why. I think Fred and his sister Ginger, who I lost, were kittens to a feral cat. As long as I give him attention, quiet attention, he is fine and
content.

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