First, Kittin got clipped by a car in early August the day after Daffodil died. A glancing blow left her laid out, unconscious, in the center of the road and relieved her of about seven of her lives. Except for a broken tooth she miraculously had no outward injuries (or broken bones) but closed head trauma and severely bruised lungs kept her at the vet hospital for four days and I've held her in the wool shop to recuperate ever since. Her right side appears to have taken the force of the blow and she has loss of strength and coordination in the right front leg leaving her with a rocking, limping gait. She can't flex the toes of that foot yet and perhaps never will. I'm hesitant to let her out because she's so compromised and she actually doesn't try to dart out the door which surprises me but I'm sure she's realized how hampered she is. She spends her days sleeping, eating, chasing flies if they land on the floor, washing her fur and thinking cat thoughts. She's getting kind of fat. She enjoys our company (me and Holly, that is) when I'm in the shop and lays under the skirting table with abandon, oblivious to the bits of cruddy fleece that drops down.
And when that gets boring she moves to the blanket I have for Holly to lay on.
Natasha moved back to the barn after it warmed up in the spring and has been doing just fine down there although I haven't seen her do more than step out the back door to sit in the pasture on sunny days. She does like her sun patches and now that it's getting a little colder she seeks them out as soon as morning sunbeams come in the east-facing door.
She's intimidated by Clem, but Chloe gives off different vibes and they seem congenial with each other.
When it gets seriously cold I'll take her back to the wool shop too.
"Heck, take her now, would you? She's hogging all the sun."
Chloe's brother Clem has become the defacto king of the barn. He's quite a regal boy although he's more silly than serious.