Things are hotting up in our plans to catch Ginger. He has a swollen face and I can see the puncture wounds from the bite that is causing the trouble.
So much for ideas. Ginger won’t go near it. I guess someone has tried something like this before and he’s not falling for it again. MasterB, on the other hand, thinks it is one of the most interesting bits of kit I have ever brought home. He has investigated every bar with great enthusiasm, sat in it, walked through it, sat beside it, marked it as his with the scent glands on his face.
As Ginger will come to me and let me rub his head and even brush his back, the cattery folk think I should be able to scruff him and get him into the pet carrier. I might get bitten, they say, but he probably won’t manage to scratch me. Probably is an interesting word to play with. I have never scruffed a cat. So I need to practise. Poor MasterB, first his erstwhile friend turns aggressive, now I am randomly plucking him by the fur on the back of his neck and lifting him into the air. He has been giving me some funny looks. The first time I was surprised at how heavy he felt. Now I find I immediately cup my hand under his back legs. This would not be a good idea with a frightened Ginger, so I need to up my game and practise scruffing him and holding him at arm’s length.
I’m going to pursue baiting the cage the next couple of days, but I think the scruffing is the best hope, if I only have the courage to do it.
I wish the cattery were nearer.