Day 185: Skunk came to me as a four-week old spitfire who had been born somewhere outdoors and adopted by a barn cat into her slightly older litter. Even at that age, she was a scrapper. When dogs attacked the kittens, she turned on them tooth and nail and came away alive, but with one paw nearly severed at the wrist by a bite. With such a history behind her, she was understandably suspicious and defensive, and for two years, resisted sitting on my lap. Then one day, she came and sat beside my chair as if to say, "Well? Aren't you going to pick me up?" I did so, and was surprised when she curled up happily and went to sleep. Since then, she has become much more tractable, often insinuating herself under my needlework or pushing my book aside to demand a cuddle. Twelve years later, I have a loving "lap cat" whose affection for me is much appreciated.
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