That Is Not an Outdoor Cat
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My dad has a sweet, little black cat named Marty. He was allowed to keep this cat, which he found as a starving kitten along the side of the road leading to their property, as long as he would agree that Marty would be an outdoor cat.
Let’s just say that Marty is barely skimming the edges of being an outdoor cat. Barely.
My dad lets him in to eat. He lets him in to drink water. He lets him in to get pet and wander around every so often. At night, dad puts Marty in the garage, supposedly so the foxes won’t eat him. Marty has a cat condo in the garage, and toys and access to canned food. He is more comfortable than most cats I can think of right now.
I’m allergic to cats, so I can attest that Marty is outside enough to keep the house pretty much dander free. So, perhaps we can slide on over and call Marty an outdoor cat. But, yes, just barely.
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