Our outdoor cat came to us unexpectedly, as a small thin stray of a thing with a sad, sweet, hopeful face. She was one of many cats out there who visit our property every day, but you could tell she was uncared for. There came a summer day when she sat longingly outside the screen door smelling our crockpot beef, and we "caved." She's belonged to us ever since.
At the time, the NCFCA debate topic of the year was about immigration, so we named her Immigrant, her having come to us from someplace else. That quickly morphed into Imogene, which is now her legal name. We often call her "Immie," but my favorite name for her is "Mrs." She is a very sweet-tempered cat.
But when it comes to hunting, she doesn't mess around. Almost every morning it's my husband's job to take away her offerings to us and add them to the Rodent Graveyard beyond the house.
Lately her offerings have caused us distress and amazement. Within the last three weeks, she has brought us three flying squirrels. I never expected to see a flying squirrel in my lifetime, let alone this many. I really wish she wouldn't!
They are so furry that when Imogene trots up to the door with one, she has nothing but a big fat mouth of fluff.
We hope that two of the three survived and got away--we scramble to bring Imogene into the house so the little creatures have a chance--but I suspect this one died after I moved him into the woods.