All I want for Christmas is . . .
This is Fergus. He's male. He's orange. He's tabby. He's got freckles on his nose. He's hungry. He's (as good as) homeless.
Opinions that have been freely expressed are that I do not need another cat. I may not, but Fergus needs to have someone who will care for him, and that might as well be me.
If he doesn't get along with the herd, then I will find him another loving person, but my goal at this point is to tempt him into my clutches with a can of 9 Lives some time before the New Year.
(As far as that "as good as homeless," he lives in a wet cardboard box on the porch of a house rented by a bunch of middle-aged biker guys. They don't own him, they just put the box out there and don't shoo him off the porch, but they never let him in, they don't feed him, and they haven't shown any interest so far in the fact that Fergus and I have a standing breakfast meeting on their front steps.)
He will be mine.
Oh, yeah. The jacket. It's almost done. Pictures (hopefully) tomorrow.