Originally posted February 15, 2012: more about the cat that would become Radar later.
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Zenobia didn’t give the cat a name, but she did leave a bowl of cream out for him every morning, and a bit of her dinner meat every evening.
Her Aunt Beulah had left her the cat, along with the property and the title, when she vanished into the mist one late-November evening. He was, at that point, already an elderly cat, if family memory held, but, in this case, family memory, generally a very reliable thing, seemed to falter.
Oh, dear.” Asta patted her nephew’s shoulder gingerly. “Not again?”
Will sighed and looked out the window. “Again. I managed to cover it up, the way you showed me…”
“But if this keeps happening, eventually the grandmothers and the mothers and the fussbudgets down at church are going to figure it out, no matter how small-minded they are,” Asta finished with a sigh. “And then they’re going to give you Willard’s choice.”
☘️
For this repost story, something from 2011 that starts Radar’s story as well as the saga of Beryl’s relationship with her young man.
“But Mom…”
“Don’t argue. You know it’s your Aunt Beatrix’s turn to host Thanksgiving, and you know we can’t very well not show up only on her years.”
“But Moooom,” Beryl’s younger sister Amy picked up the complaint, “it smells funny there.”
“It’s the cats,” their older sister Chalcedony added. “Mom, come on. Someone needs to tell Beatrix that her house smells like cat pee.”
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