Day 3: Skunk is my old "grandma kitty." Now over twelve years old, I've had her since she was just a little baby cat. She came to me pretty wild, having been birthed in a shed on a farm where she'd been attacked and injured by dogs, so several years passed before she would consent to sit on a lap. Now she thinks nothing of insinuating herself under whatever project I may be engaged in, wiggling beneath fabric or a book until she can stretch full length along my legs. She has health issues, poor old gal. She has arthritis and she was deafened by a reaction to a medication she was given for an ear infection several years ago. She's learned to respond to hand signs if I can get her attention to indicate I'm about to serve up her dinner or to invite her onto the bed. Like most cats and especially those who have creaky joints, her favorite place is in the sun. My good girl!
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