The cat lady trapped me and brought me here to Cat House, and for while I was still wild and flighty.
She fed us, and paid our bills, but no human lived at Cat House. It was already full – four or five cats per room, depending on who got along and who staked out what furniture. Which, as you can imagine, was shredded.
The woman ran Cat House in her spare time when she wasn’t making house payments for homeless cats, so they could live in a real neighborhood, with real neighbors and try to assume a so-called real life. While we all waited around for a house of our very own.
Don’t all cats have human servants to buy their homes and pay their bills?
But back to Elvis.
He was handsome. And bold. Fearless. What self-respecting dog walks into a house of 25 cats – willingly?
He did. He didn’t turn and run away. Normal dogs would.
I heard about the first cat that Elvis lived with – Kihei, back at Dog Beach in San Diego. It took that cat 13 seconds to pick out her new family from the lineup at her California Cat House.
It took Elvis about the same amount of time, here at Cat House Oregon. He walked in. Our eyes met.
The house of 25 cats shrank to one. Everyone else disappeared.
He seemed like a sweetheart of a guy. I picked him and he picked me.