Well, for everyone who told me that TB needed a new friend – Bah on you. this is your fault.
This morning I went out to the front porch as I prepared to head for town to mail more books off. And I heard that horrible, pitiful sound of a kitten in need. I kind of prayed that I was hearing a bird, but I knew better. I chased down the sound and watched a little grey kitty disappear. Rats. I knew I’d never get my hands on him, but if he was meant to live with me, we’d figure out a way.
I did my errands in town and came back – heard the mewing again and before long, I had this little thing in my arms and in the comfort of our home.
TB isn’t terribly happy. Okay, he’s not happy at all. But he’ll deal with it. After hissing at me and Grey, then batting at me in anger, he’s decided the best place to hide is in the other room. 
I have no idea how old or what sex, but Grey meets our wonderful vet tomorrow afternoon and we start the process of making this cutie part of our family.
Pictures? Not much luck so far. Not only is this little cat mouthy enough to get my attention, but hasn’t stopped moving since we walked in the door – well, except to pound down as much of TB’s food as possible in a short period of time.
Edit: Ack! I didn’t even think about it, but he’s not named after Christian Grey. I have a little great-nephew whose name is Alistair Grey … oh, and a character in Bellingwood Book 11. And since I have no idea what sex this little thing is – it’s still fairly gender-less for a name.
