martinimade

I still can't look at picture of Mooch without welling up a bit. Stupid cat.

However.

Some will remember this picture from the vet's office, snapped during one of my many visits with Mooch:

Some will notice a striking similarity with that cat and this one, who I found sitting just outside my bedroom door:

This one -- who we are calling Barnacle because a) he was found in a barn and b) likes to cling to the undersides of things --  is four months old and has brought out the kitten in Trout, who seems to be adapting with aplomb. No real hissing. No real territory disputes. I think Mooch had already taken the fight out of Trout. Plus, it's Trout's true nature to be fairly placid.

For the first 24 hours of Barnacle's residence, I figured I'd made a huuuuuuge mistake because he refused to come out of the basement. In fact, we almost named him Crawlspace because that is where we figured he'd always be. Now, however, he's developed a knack for being underfoot and sleeps with Scott and I, so I think he's settling in. The kids still freak him out -- but they still freak me out sometimes, so I can't really blame him.

Barney, as we tend to call him because it looks like he's already suited-up, is no replacement for Mooch, thank god. I worried that it was too soon but realized that the house just doesn't feel right without two cats in it. And Barney just kept squeaking at me whenever I came to pet Mooch, which felt like some sort of sign.

So we have another cat. He's fitting in. I miss Mooch, still. We move on.