Thomas Jefferson has grown up quite a bit since his debut. He’s gone from a helpless kitten to a teenaged tomcat that is already an accomplished hunter. The mouse population has dwindled in the barn, and he can frequently be found stalking, chasing and catching vermin of all sorts. In that regard, he has been just great.

Except… darn it, Thomas! You weren’t SUPPOSED to become a house cat! Yes, he makes excursions out to the barn, but for the most part he prefers to be in the house. It would be far easier to just banish him to the barn if it weren’t for the fact that he’s so darn friendly – a far cry from our cantankerous house cat Zoë.

The separation would have been far easier if he’d been allowed to get his rabies shot. Unfortunately, we discovered him so young that we couldn’t find a vet willing to vaccinate him. And seeing as how we’re surrounded by skunks and foxes, we weren’t comfortable with having an unvaccinated cat running around amongst who knew what else in the woods.

Thus, he’s becoming a house cat. Even though he was relegated to the barn while we deflea-ed him, he still was determined to be inside. And it doesn’t seem so much that he wants to be inside as much as it seems he just loves our kids. When we let him in at night he makes his way up the stairs and curls up in bed with Luke, purring to beat the band.

That’s really where we got sucker punched; it’s not just that he’s exceptionally congenial, it’s that he loves our three wild, rough, noisy boys. He doesn’t just tolerate them – in his little kitty brain he’s one of the gang. If the kids are outside, so is he. If they come in, he’s usually not far behind.

Ah, well. We have another house cat. C’est la vie.