I don’t have much today — it is very late, and I’ve had non-stop problems with internet connection since arriving at work. But here, before your very eyes, is the update on Marrakesh.
Yes, we went outside, probably in an ill-advised move, but boy did it put some spring in his step and made him instantly seem like good ol’ Marrakesh.
We circumnavigated the house in two phases, and on the second half he went over to the ditch, where he looked like he was contemplating leaping it and making a break for the highway. He did also start up the driveway to the road, but was amenable to being turned around and pointed toward the front door.
We went out the back door, in and out the front door, and finally in the garage door, which he probably thought he was just scoping out but which I used as an end to the sojourn. He is still convalescing, after all, and we’re on the short end of the recommended time frame before you let your cat outside in a new location.
My sister Terri and her husband adopted a completely feral cat who has readily enough adapted to a completely indoor lifestyle, but I don’t think we’re going to convince Marrakesh that’s the way to go.
Even Na Ki’o, a 99 percenter when it comes to indoor-outdoor, likes to go out the deck door of his new house, down a stair to the only blade of grass in sight, and start gnawing. Or gumming, since very little damage has been done to the grass despite relentless attacks from Ki’o.
That’s what Marrakesh saw this morning, from his sick perch on the back of the couch. He watched Ki’o go out the back door and suddenly little lights went on in his eyes for the first time pretty much since he arrived here. It took him a long time to get down off the couch and out the door, but once out, the world was his oyster and he went on a pearl hunt.
Now, I probably shouldn’t admit this in public, because then I won’t be able to proclaim ignorance, although I gather that’s inadmissible as a defense anyway, but our covenants do say “No outdoor cats.” I’ll move onto my second defense, which is: Marrakesh can’t read. Because his little trips outside sure perked him up better than anything else we’ve tried.
And that’s all I’ve got for you today. Back to folding shirts.