He is hard to photograph! He's in constant motion, either scampering away to hide or he's coming toward you to stick his nose in your face and snuggle. He's in that interesting stage that Wendy never left, where he loves attention but also thinks he has to protect himself.
This is the Little Lion you first saw here on December 6, grown up a bit. We've been thinking about him ever since we saw him via our friend Robin at Kitten Associates in Connecticut, where we adopted Harris. He was in a great foster home in Maine, being cared for by a friend of hers, Connie. Another mutual friend adopted his sister, a sweetheart they named Penelope Possum, in honor of You Know Who. So I was not the only person intrigued by him. Robin eventually decided she wanted to bring him to her shelter, to make sure he goes to a great home, because he's a little shy. So my husband and I volunteered to drive to Maine to get him, and then the plan is that we'll foster him until Robin can drive here and pick him up. In a few days. Maybe (he's awfully cute).
We'll see how that goes.
I am too busy entertaining the Lion, and keeping him from eating string toys, to write much here. I don't have many photos because he's been a difficult subject. We had a long, tricky drive to Arundel, Maine, today to pick him up, for it started to snow heavily as we were out of Boston. We weren't expecting this. I only had a raincoat; it was supposed to rain. The flakes were clumps, and a winter wonderland seemed to surround us in just a matter of minutes.
We had only the quickest visit with his foster parents, because they live a ways off the main roads, the snow was accumulating quickly, and we have a light, little sports car. We were afraid we wouldn't make it out of their driveway.
As we were slip-sliding around in the slush, going no more than 25, my husband remembered there's a "SNOW" button on the console. He pointed it out and pressed it. "Nothing's happening," he reported. "It's still snowing."
The little Lion has a loud purr when you pet him, even if he's sitting in a strange carrier in a noisy, slip-sliding car. He spent most of the three hours it took to get home resting quietly near my hand.
As we came in the door with his carrier, the boys caught a glimpse of him. Tails were up, eyes were curious, and noses sniffed the air. We settled the Guest in our "isolation room," my husband's tiny office. The Guest spent a few hours curled in his carrier, purring when we'd stroke him, and kneading his little fleece blanket, which his foster mom had thoughtfully tucked inside to remind him of "home." She also packed his favorite little red mouse, all chewed up, with no tail.
I'm going back in there to play with the guest and try to persuade him to have some supper.