I’ve tried. This busy little cat we’re fostering simply will not sit still for a good photograph. This week we tried torture: she was sent off to the vet for a day where they applied needles and knives to her, injecting her with vaccines and doing tests and snipping various organs. I was sure she’d come home worn out and sore and tired, but no — she’s running around the place, jumping on me, chasing dust bunnies as if she hadn’t had her belly sliced open and both forelegs shaved for the various needles she was stuck with. This was getting ridiculous.
Then, moments ago, she found a good book and curled up with it. Unbelievable.
She’s a developmental biologist. Either that or she’s a Wolpert fan.
I’m thinking of trying the ultimate test, and leaving out a copy of The Happy Atheist. All cats are godless, right?
You want her? Contact the Stevens Community Humane Society. Tell them you want to save Ivy. I’ll even throw in a developmental biology textbook to sweeten the deal. I wouldn’t want her to get bored.