I’ve taken in my son’s cat. He left her with me when he moved to an apartment with a (now former) friend. Her name is Gingersnap, called Ginny or Gin-Gin, and she used to be feral.

She’s about nine years old, dislikes other cats, but tolerates dogs. She’s not cuddly. Oh no. She’d rather bite the hand that feeds her right up to the elbow. Her favorite game to play is “grab the ankles and trip the one who feeds me.” She hates the fact that I won’t allow her to go outside.

She does like her cat tree by the window. She can watch the side and back yards from her perch. She also guards the door and greets everyone who comes in. She especially likes meeting the dog I sit on Tuesdays and Fridays. He’s afraid of cats and she loves to get in his face.

She’s so special that I’m working on a mini book about her titled A Gingersnap Is Not Always A Cookie.