Meet Potato. Potato is his placeholder name. It’s short for Hot Potato. We’re not even sure if he is a he, but I’m going to keep calling him a him until the vet tells me otherwise.

Last night, Nicole and her boyfriend happened upon a young cat licking a Reese’s wrapper, and they thought it looked skinny and really hungry. They fed him, but they didn’t want to mix him with Henry because what if he had worms? Or leukemia? Or HIV? So they brought him to me until we can find him foster care and perhaps a home. He’s already made himself at home.

He’s a real sweetheart, but he’s skin and bones. He’s eating, but after the initial feast last night, be doesn’t have a lot of interest in food. He slept peacefully on my bed all night.

He’s good company, and it’s been a while since I’ve been able to pet a cat.

He also likes to read what I’m writing about him.

I don’t know if I can live with a cat who’s not Newcastle. He looks like Newcastle did at his age (I’m going to say from nine-twelve months), but I’m trying not to let that affect me. I’ve enjoyed hosting Potato, though, and as long as he’s well-behaved, he’s welcome to stay.