I’m having a serious internal struggle with whether or not to take responsibility for Sean Connery, the cat who recently belonged to the owners of the House we bought. I’ve moved on from the
rage disappointment sadness over the fact that they left him here and am instead trying to figure out what to do about it.
Side note: In looking for the above photo I learned a lot about Sean Connery (the actor, not the cat). He’s, like…seriously aged. It doesn’t help that he’s immortalized as a handsome man whore/spy and network TV keeps reminding me that he’s one suave member of the UK. But this article I found of a recent Sean Connery outing to the U.S. Open was shocking.
Old man glasses! Scowl! Liver spots! Egads. But considering that he’s 83 (EIGHTY-THREE!) he’s looking pretty good. I guess. I don’t find myself in the company or looking at 83 year olds that often.
But back to my Sean Connery, the proud fluffy grey/black cat that is a constant fixture around our house. If he’s not in our yard sunbathing then he’s on the welcome map sleeping or in the backyard somewhere at night lurking about like a creeper. (I can hear every soft little kitty paw hit every giant dried up rubber leaf tree. Stealth is not Sean Connery’s strong suit). As soon as I get
close within ten feet of him he’s scurried away, accept for the time when I opened the front door and he was on the other side, rudely awakened by my need to go to work. I got one adorable/sleepy “meow?” before he probably realized that I was not his owner and took off.
Yet it’s the howling from the backyard late at night that tugs at the heartstrings. It’s so sad that I’m not even mad and that’s saying something because I love sleep. Parker and I think it’s howling because it’s lonely and has been abandoned, but we’re probably just projecting human emotions onto a now-stray cat that’s actually howling triumphantly over it’s latest kill.
Nah! It’s definitely lonely. If he was howling victoriously then I imagine he would be more plump than he is now. Do I feed him? Take him in? Lord knows The Haunted House lady leaves out enough food to feed an army, but I imagine it can be war over there sometimes. I really really want to set up a camera on where she leaves the food out to see what comes though her yard and if Sean Connery is just as badass as his namesake.
Alas, it’s all just a waiting game. He’s so skittish that I can’t get good photos of him, and until I get to pet him then I’m not terribly inclined to give him food. Man, that makes me sound selfish and horrible. Parker thinks it’s a good argument, but I think he’s trying to make me feel better for people a horrible person.
Also, I’d like to take a moment to confirm Sean Connery’s given name by his now (literally) departed owners: Baby. That’s right, Baby. How humiliating. It’s like they were watching Dirty Dancing one night and said “Hey! That’s a good name for our cat!” Ugh, no thank you.
As soon as I can get close enough to the bugger without him running off I’ll make sure to snap some photos of him. Until then, here’s pictures of Sean Connery–the actor– with some kittens.