Ranger is going back to his original foster family tomorrow. Carrie sent me an email on Monday while I was at work. She'd written the people she'd adopted Ranger from looking for a possible new home. The woman called Carrie back in a flash. Her daughter had just given a report on their foster cats at school. The report went on and on about how much she missed a certain white and orange fuzzball that loved to cuddle. Carrie's mom was already planning on visiting us tomorrow and Ranger's old home is right off of her route home. The timing of everything seems perfect.
I wasn't happy when I'd heard that Carrie had already agreed to ship Ranger out, and I'm still not thrilled. I can't deny that everything about the situation seems to be falling into place as if it was meant to be, though. Shane's got no sense and has almost the hurt the cat several times. The cat has no sense and lays there while a 27 lb baby steps on him or tries to gnaw on cat gut. It's a recipe for an injury. My wife worries about my allergies too, since Ranger is constantly trying to hop on me. I offered to ship out Max, but that didn't go over well!
Ranger, you were good for a cat. You loved people and attention. You never raised a paw in anger (to a human anyway). You had a slinky for a spine and liked to fall asleep on us in all sorts of odd positions. I'll even forgive your constant dragging paper and wrappers into your water bowl or Shane's play area; your running to poop whenever I tried to clean the litter bin; or even your flatulence that could clear a room. Ranger, you were a cat that actually liked people and that marked you as part dog in my book. It's a shame you won't grow up with Shane, because I could see you becoming his cat. You're going somewhere there's a little girl who won't try to maim you and will play with you the right way.
Godspeed, you little moron cat. Remember not to wipe your butt on the carpet.
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