About a year ago, you heard about Zorro the cat, who came to live with us because someone threw him out of a car window while my husband, David, was out for his morning walk. The cat ran toward David, and jumped onto David’s shoulder. Now, one year later, Zorro is such a part of our family we hardly remember when he wasn’t our little annoying yet loving guy. He still reminds me of a black chihuahua.
Zorro is always busy, except when he is sleeping. He is an indoor cat, but strives, always, to venture outside. When we open the front door, we must always put a foot up to keep him from passing through the doorway. Often, we fail, and he is outside, hopping like a rabbit, darting from one place to another, teasing us to try to catch him, but running fast to keep us from getting him.
I no longer play his game.