I think Tasha would be perfectly content to live out her kitty years as the alpha cat of our little household. She's already proven to us that she absolutely, without a doubt, hates any stray cats that are brave enough to wander onto our property. The only one she tolerates is a black cat named Shadow, but I really think that's only because Shadow sticks to the yard and does not come up on the porch.
I came THIS close to bringing home another kitty this week. Mike and I went to The Humane Society (just to look, I said) and we fell in love with a little black kitten named Willow and a spotted black and white guy named Domino (yep, I would change that name immediately). We spent over an hour playing with the cats, but I decided that two more cats would be way to much for us and I made us leave. Of course, I immediantly regretted not getting them, but I keep telling myself if they are still there next week when I have my next day off, then its meant to be.
Today, we went to another animal rescue that is in the country right outside town, which shall remain nameless because I am about to trash them pretty hard. First off, the girl at the front desk had the personality on par with a piece of cat shit. Then, when Mike and I started to look around the front room ( they had some cats AND birds in cages), I noticed that the big bird cages in the back had MOUNDS of dried poop on them. Like, hardened to a crisp. I have two birds and know how quickly bird poop can build up, but this was ridiculous. Red flag number one.
We were then told there were more kitties around the back in a barn. As we're walking to the barn, we see all of Cujo's extended family barking fiercely at us and looking mangy as hell. Once again, not a good sign. Upstairs in the barn all the cats were separated into several little rooms. The rooms were gross and so were most of the cats. Some were super friendly, but so dirty I didn't want to pet them for fear of contracting scabies or parasites or some equally awful disease. One was so matted I could feel the mats as I was petting her. Poor Mike had some kind of cat bodily fluid leaked onto his shirt. We couldn't tell if it was shit, or eye goop, but either way...vomit.
I really wanted this sweet guy named Sylvester who let me hold him like a baby, but even he didn't look very healthy. Poor Sylvester. By the time we got out of there, I felt like I needed a Silkwood shower and a rabies shot. We will NOT being going back there ever again. So, no new kitties and Tasha gets to remane top cat...for now:)