It's You You, my nine-year-old DSH neutered cat. He's lived chez moi since he was six weeks old, the runt of a litter of four, born with one testicle and a crooked head. Along with a blue eye and a green eye. Put these together and you have one striking beast...and he's smart, 'cause he's got a scrawny tail and looks aren't everything.
Here's another view. I heard a plaintive, meow, and could not see where he was. The table's been so full of art supplies for the past two weeks, the cats have given up trying to establish themselves from that vantage.
However, there must've been a small wedge among the stuff as You You was able to cram himself into it. Do you think if cat protective services knew about this, I'd be in trouble?
And here he is, freed from the table rubble, enjoying a breath of fresh air.
The neighbours all know that an artist lives at my house. Can you tell how?
