No longer allowed out unsupervised ...

That's what Hubby has been saying about me for the last twenty-four hours.

Yesterday I headed up to King's Square to do my yearly observance of Remembrance Day at the War Memorial. The main ceremonies are now held inside Harbour Station for the comfort of the veterans, but a few veterans still go to the square, and so I like to be there with them.

While the small crowd waited for the bells of Trinity to strike the eleventh hour, I watched the elderly folks place wreaths on stands on the War Memorial, and then watched the ones around the side topple off just as fast as the veterans could place them. A second later, the cause was obvious; a tabby cat slunk around to the front of the memorial and proceeded to take out all of those wreaths too.

Conscious of the time, I walked over and picked up the cat so he couldn't do any more damage and held him in my arms during the moment of silence. Afterwards, I walked up to people in the crowd, asking everyone if this cat belonged to them. No takers. I tried putting him down, but he just wanted to be with me, and when I picked him again (because he was seriously spooked by the traffic) he pretty much immediately went to sleep in my arms. Once I ran out of people to ask, I wandered back to my car, thinking, "Hubby is going to kill me."

But at least it wasn't a dog.

So I called the one person I knew who lived uptown and had cats, on the off-chance one of hers had gone for a stroll, and although she had both hers, she offered to loan me a cat carrier. When she arrived with it, she agreed that this cat was a very beautiful little guy.

I called Hubby, who was unimpressed but took it better than I thought he would, and then I drove around the South End looking for "lost cat" signs. Then I brought him home.

Stormy, aka The Feline Ruler of the Household, educated Hubby on the fact that cats do, indeed, growl, and she has been pretty much spitting and snarking ever since I walked in the door with him.

Hubby alternates between suggesting places to put "found cat" notices and referring to my "new cat". Hubby has also named him, informing me that he does not look like a Frederick, as I'd suggested (from "Frederick the Literate" fame), but because of his very-laid-back, relaxed behaviour when dealing with Stormy (and apparently life in general), he ought to be named Zaphod.

Anyway, if anyone knows of anyone who has lost this cat, please let me know (and soon, as we're getting attached to this little guy, and if we're going to keep him, I'll have to take him for shots, and flea treatment, and snippy-snippy, before too much longer). In the meantime, it would seem that I am now the proud sort-of-owner of an unexpected Maine Coon Cat. And, in spite of what Stormy thinks, he's a real sweetie.

He's not a dog, but he'll do.