U P D A T E: The beastie's owner has been located, and her friend is going to take the kitty. Whew! Now I can stop having nightmares about five cats, two adults, and two kids snoozing in one queen sized bed.
My name is Mary and I'm a cat addict. My husband's name is Greg (or Frank, in blogland), and he is a cat addict too. So, for example, when someone moves out of an apartment and leaves their brown tabby with two bowls of food and two bowls of water, with the heat off, and no knowledge of when anyone will enter the apartment again, and Greg is the one who finds the tabby, then we start contemplating adding a fifth cat to our household.
It might be easier if the no-kill shelters around here were accepting cats. But not really.
How come some of us are such softies, and other people don't care a straw?