Where The Wild Things Are

A couple of weekends ago the Walshtons got together for an evening of fun and festivities, which, unbeknownst to us at the time, lasted until the wee hours of the morning. At some point Thelma heard the distant sound of a feline in distress, and the next thing you know the four of us were traipsing around the Country Club with flashlights, trying to locate it.

Meet Friday. (Who knew it was actually Saturday when Thelma captured her, lol.)


After much discussion about her fate, (The Husband and I are both very allergic to cats) we decided she could hang around outside as long as she'd like, and we'll look after her. Providing, of course, that it was OK with her.

Because she was just a baby, seemingly dropped off by the side of the road, she was a bit skittish. (And quite hungry, it turns out.) This was a familiar site for the first couple of days, as she was so scared she hid underneath the deck. (Please excuse the state of the deck, it's a project that hasn't been started yet.)



I explained to The Youngest that it would take some time for her to trust us, and that he just had to be patient. I sat out there with him for a couple of hours that morning while Friday decided whether or not he was a threat to her.

How cute is she?!



She came a little closer...




...and closer...




...and closer...


...until he finally got to hold her.



Poor Friday!