As
the weather has slipped toward winter, the soft side of my nature has
begun to affect my judgment. (I know; who knew I had such a side?)
Anyway, I've been trying to coax The Homesteader to "move" inside.
Actually, I thought it would be a no brainer. Who wants to live in an
old shed out in the weather? So I picked her up and brought her in the
backfront door. Whoosh. Before I could turn to
close the door, she was gone--back to the shed. I guess we know now
who doesn't have the brain. My next strategy was to just hold the door
open and let her initiate changing worlds. She stuck her nose in the
door, surveyed the layout--ran back to the shed. Having a stubborn
streak in my soft side, I tried another strategy: the food temptation.
She came in, ate her fill, (I hope she's been washing her paws; she
stands with her front paws in the middle of the bowl while she eats.) I
petted her. That was acceptable. Purring even. I slowly closed the
door. Ninja cat! She began jumping against the door trying to get out.
Sigh. I opened the door and let her return to her domain: rain,
wind, chill, an old wooden shed. I guess it's my head that's soft, not
my heart. Wildness must be in her blood. What? Of course, I'll keep
trying! Maybe a good snowstorm will change her mind? (By the way, I'm
glad I don't speak cat'nese. She expressed her opinion several times,
and I doubt if they were terms of love.)
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