Airbnb hocking hills pet friendly

Question: If April flowers bring May showers, what do May flowers bring?
Answer: Puritans and misery.
Part 1 - May Flower Moon
I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure this is a ghost story. It all started in early May under the, "Flower Moon".
In the still of the night, I awoke from a deep sleep to witness a moonlight so spectacular it hurt my eyes.
Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
-Ann Ronell as sung by Billie Holiday
The birds were chirping loudly. I shuffled to the window. I looked up wide-eyed at the sky. There was the moon; big, round and golden like it didn't mind a big electricity bill. As I used the bathroom, I remember thinking that I didn't ever remember a full moon so bright it could light up my apartment.
I washed my hands then splashed warm water on my face. I cracked my neck. I dried my hands and face with a towel. I remember thinking if I didn't get back to sleep the day was going to suck.
Shuffling back into my bedroom I thought to look for my ski hat. I figured I could pull it over my eyes and escape the light under the blanket. Flower Moon was beautiful but so too is sleep. If I could just hide under the blanket perhaps it wasn't too late for sleep to creep up on me.
I have been renting the same sunny shoebox in old Brooklyn for more than 20 years. It's a corner apartment on the second floor of a 19th century walkup. Across the street, diagonally resides a community garden fronted by a very tall and expansive weeping willow tree that won't let me move away. I didn't know it's age until recently. But it's younger than me. Most things are these days.
I shuffled to the corner window to squeeze the blinds tight and that's when I felt grateful, grateful I had decided to use the bathroom first.
There, at the base of the hundred-foot-tall willow, behind the wrought iron fence, illuminated beneath the moon's glow, I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder. Standing beneath the moonlight, I saw, clear as day, a little boy in footed pajamas with a trap door. The little boy was holding a blue stuffed Grover Muppet in one hand and crying.
Trying to get a good look at the boy was like trying to look at something from behind a campfire. There was a shimmering distortion. What I could clearly see was that he was pointing down at the ground in front of his feet with the non-Grover hand. Suddenly, the little boy spun his head up and around looking directly at me. Eye contact occurred and then too, something I can't explain.
First, a truck transporting fuel broke loudly for the red light at the corner. Through the open windows I smelled what seemed like diesel. I grew light-headed. The room spun around. I remember thinking this feeling smelled both nauseating as well as timeless.
I reached down to try and pick up the floor and that's when it hit me in the face. A sharp pain across my cheek like I had been slapped in a 3 Stooges short. I felt icy fingers grab the hair I had not had in over 30 years and jerk my head back. I smelled more diesel. I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from losing my balance.
Holding on to the desk, I noticed my mind's eye was playing the little boy's face like a movie. The camera panned in. His little boy face filled my consciousness like I was watching from the front row. He was about four or five years old with long dirty blonde hair. His face looked familiar from a dream.
Then, another slapping pain turned my last good cheek. Losing my balance, I fell ass first to the floor.
Out the window, from on my ass, I watched the traffic light turn green. I heard the truck lurch into gear, rev it's engine then drive away. As it rumbled off into the distance my equilibrium returned.
Muttering my life sucked I gently shook my head and felt for damage. Just my non-existent pride. I got myself vertical, yet once again; feeling a distinct twinge of anxiety.
I looked out the window but the little boy was gone. An FDNY ambulance took his place, it's siren jarring me back to reality. I closed the blinds and got under the blanket. I never did really get back to sleep that night. Or ever since.
Part II - Unhappily Ever Since
Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me... -Billie I keep seeing a little boy under the tree... - me ...
The first thing I want to say is that I keep waking up for decades at exactly 3:33 am.
It's the exact time my decrepit birth certificate claims I was introduced to this world. Can't say why, but ever since digital clocks became a thing, I'm up more often than not to witness 3:33 am transpire. Never remember it happening before digital.
One of my friends recently told me it was an angel number. I don't know anything about angels. Never met one. But I for sure have met some demons in my day. In fact. you might say I was born of demon mother, and I might not be offended. Back to my birth certificate. I was born and yes, still live in Brooklyn, New York. There were gaps but it's my home.
I moved to this particular apartment building a few months after 9/11. I had moved in with a woman at the tail end of doing a romantic nickel, but that fell apart like Madoff, Abramoff or Fuckoff, and she married another dude a year later. So, there in 2002, I and my faithful golden retriever, Spenser, found ourselves, for the very first time, on our own. And, we liked it.
Like I mentioned, Spenser and I lived diagonal to a community garden that fronts a big and beautiful weeping willow tree. I felt an immediate kinship as my favorite book as a child had been, "The Giving Tree" and that's what she reminded me of; only more beautiful.
There will be more about the tree. Anyway, the tree and I dwell in an old part of south Brooklyn called Park Slope, infamous for being the stomping grounds of a young Al Capone, and, believe it or not, young me.
That was a long time ago. Things have changed a lot since Al and I, were separately roaming the streets of Park Slope, looking for adventure and whatever came our way. I came up in the day when if you cried your mother would give you something to cry about. And, not going to lie, I cried a lot. I don't remember my dad that much.
I remember he was a hippie. I remember he had a big beard and moustache and long hair. I remember his denim jacket was always cold, smelling like weed and cigarettes. I remember he gave me, "The Giving Tree" and taught me how to read it. And then, I remember he was; gone. Just. Gone.
I also remember my mother. I remember her never talking much. I remember her just smelling like hair spray, cigarettes and instant coffee with sour milk. I never was able to drink milk, not even as a child, and to this very day just the sight of a milk carton turns my stomach to acid.
I lived alone with the old lady about half a mile from where I live now. Yeah, in over thirty years I made it a whole thirteen blocks. Like I said, my pride was non-existent these days unless I was sitting on it. Another, weird thing besides waking up at 3:33 am is I have a lot of memory lapses. It has been getting worse the last few years. Especially, since old Spenser had a seizure in my arms back on the 9/11 of '09. He was fifteen and my best friend. I'd always loved dogs. But after losing Spenser, I couldn't quite remember things right all the time.
Sometimes, it was little things. Like did I turn off the stove or lock the front door. Other times, it was deep things, like did the telephone repair man try to do something to me when I was five and left home alone. Like did I pull a kitchen knife on him before he scampered out like a thief in the night; scared he'd be caught by my screams for Batman? Did I remember my mother having strange guests over late at night? Did I remember being locked in my room? I just couldn't remember anymore.
I had taken to obsessively keeping lists. But you can't put ghost-busting on a list, can you? And that was my real problem. Ever since, the May Flower Moon the haunting just kept rinsing and repeating. Eat edibles, Nyquil, and Advil PM and still wake up at 3:33am. Smell diesel. Wave of nausea. Little boy in garden. Little boy crying. Little boy pointing at something. Little boy looking up at me. Little boy. Little boy. Little boy.
By last Friday, I was a mess.
My work is suffering. I am too embarrassed to tell my aunt or besties I see a little boy. They already think I am weird enough and last thing I need is a wellness check.
To remain scientific, I have continued my daytime visits to the garden whenever it is open. Everything seems so lovely in the day. I even brought the new woman I am seeing. She fell in love with the tree at first sight. The flowers are gorgeous. And the roses; so mesmerizing. Even the fish in the koi pond are happy.
But at night. Something isn't right.
...Weeping willow tree Weeping sympathy Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me Listen to me plead Hear me willow and weep for me...
My new friend at work I mentioned, who told me about angel numbers, asked me recently if something was bothering me. She told me when we met, she is in the midst of a spiritual awakening.
Part of it includes awakening every morning to read the Tarot cards and commune with who, or what, she calls, "spirit".
I cracked and told her about the little boy under the tree. She didn't bat an eye. She told me spirit wants something from me. I didn't know what to say to that so I just left it alone. I guess I'm afraid what if she's right. And what if I don't like what, "spirit" wants?
Last night was Saturday. I had a dream.
That night I dreamed about a collie I had when I was a very young boy right after my dad split. Her name was Pearl. I had found her on the street on my block and for some inexplicable reason had been allowed to keep her.
Not long after, one hot summer day in Prospect Park, when my mother was going to give me something to cry about, Pearl suddenly ran down the hill she was frolicking on, making a wide sweeping arc that screamed, "ride or die, full throttle, and damn the fucking torpedoes," it's trajectory directly between my mother's legs. Fur overcame flesh just in the nick before I was given something to cry about.
Instead, I laughed.
I laughed so fucking hysterically at the sight of her on the grass, on her ass; smug look gone with the wind; replaced by an expression seething red menace that would have been McCarthy's wet dream.
And, like the little boy at 3:33 am, Pearl's eyes met mine. She seemed to nod her collie head, as if she were acknowledging that, yes, she was the best dog and don't you forget it. I didn't cry much for a while after that till I came home from school and Pearl was gone. Just gone. To some farm I was told. Where she could be happier. So, I guess I did get something to cry about after all.
And then last night I had a dream.
Part III - It weeps for me?
I dreamed of Peter Pan and buried treasure. I dreamed of Stove Stop stuffing and commercials loud enough to drown out a breech birth. I dreamed of Spider-Man letting Uncle Ben's killer go free. I dreamed of being American. I dreamed of Watergate, the fall of the Berlin wall, 9/11 and watching people jump out windows to avoid burning to death out the window of my office.
I dreamed of Iraq and Afghanistan and George Floyd and Covid and never-ending cycles of boom and bust. I dreamed of a golden carrot on what started out as a stick but soon morphed into what I realized was a branch. A long flowing beautiful branch covered in red. A branch that hung low. It swayed along the ground, swayed above my head and there I was.
I was in the garden. Under the tree. I felt drops of warm dew caressing my face. I was about to reach up to caress the tree. My tree. I noticed I was wearing pajamas. Not the black satin jammies I had been wearing for decades but old footie pajamas. They were Star Trek pajamas. With three golden rings on the cuffs and a trap door.
A drop of dew fell in my eye. I wiped it away and looked at my hand. It was red. Red with blood. My Mickey Mouse watch involuntarily color-coordinated with the blood. It appeared to be just after 3:30 am.
Suddenly, a dog appeared. It was Pearl. Then another, it was Spenser. They jammed their snouts into my flannel covered crotch. I pet them both and noticed my tears mixing with the dewy blood drops turning them a soft pink under the moonlight.
"Good boy. Good girl." I said.
"Hi," a voice I recognized but couldn't place said.
I looked around. And there, was, the little boy. And, in his hand was Grover.
"Hi," I heard myself say.
"Who's the dog?" he said.
"That's Pearl. And this is Spenser." I answered.
"I know Pearl, silly. She's my dog," then, "Hi, Spenser."
Spenser left my crotch for the little boy's. They went together like peanut butter and sandwiches.
"Where are your parents?" I heard myself ask.
"Dad left. Mom told me to stay here until she comes back."
"When was that?" I asked.
The little boy shrugged then, "Been a while I guess," and he started to cry. Spenser got agitated and started to whine. I approached. I went to put my hand on the boy's shoulder and he jumped.
"Hey, it's okay." I took my hand back.
He looked up at me. Then he said, "You want to see something?
I said, "Yes."
The little boy fished around in his pajamas and pulled out something, it looked like a piece of rolled up construction paper secured with a red ribbon that matched the bloody dew drops.
He un-scrolled it then solemnly showed it to me.
It appeared to be a child's treasure map. That ended in the garden. Only it wasn't a garden. It said, "JUNK YARD" and there was a big X next to the corner of the rectangle the words were written in. I looked down at him.
"There's no junk yard here, son," I said.
The little boy looked away from Spenser and up at me. Pearl ran to his side. I felt six eyes on me.
"That's what you think," he said
A moment later there was the loud cracking of fireworks being detonated. I awoke in my bed. Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
I ran to the window to look out. But, unlike every other time for the past month, the boy was not in residence. He was gone. Just. Gone.
Part IV - The is The End
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
...
This was fucking ridiculous. I am sane. I am not mad. I'd been reading, "The Giving Tree," too much. Spending too much time alone working from home. Maybe I just needed to get away. Take a trip somewhere.
I realized getting back to sleep was going to be impossible. So, I went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. No milk.
Back at my desk, my "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." glass mug of tea firmly in hand, I took a deep breath. There was no point in giving myself a heart attack. Maybe it was just anxiety. Maybe panic attacks. I had dated lots of neurotic women. That could be it. Maybe some Lexapro and I'd be good as new. I decided to check my email.
A woman I used to date from Queens and stayed friends with had sent me a link entitled, "Birth of a community garden." It was video to my garden. Before it was a garden. Over forty years ago. It was a decrepit vacant lot filled with dead cars and refuse and apparently had been a neighborhood drug bazaar. Like I said, things have changed a lot since Al and I were young as springtime.
By the time I moved back you would have never known what things had used to look like. Spray painted signs that read, "NO DRUGS SOLD HERE!" and the like. Just like the Batman, Dark Knight, the 80s were a time when Urban Renewal was striking back. And before you could say, "corruption at City Hall," there was fecund soil where once had stood God knows what.
It gave me hope that humanity wasn't so bad. Maybe I had just been going through a tough time. Maybe I should quit while I am ahead and get a good night's rest. So, I closed the blinds and went to bed.
Why I am never sleeping again
That night I dreamed I was part of the junk yard's saviors. Hauling out decades of festering trash and replacing it with good old Mother Earth. A whole community coming together to commune with nature. I felt myself smile.
All day we hoed the rows. The fecundity of the soil filling my nostrils. There was food and laughter and soon day turned to night. One by one all the gardeners left into the dusk. Soon I stood alone next to a young woman. She held a green army duffle bag. And two shovels.
"You look like a big, strong man. They're going to be planting a weeping willow tree here soon. But first, I wanted to leave the earth a special gift to grow up with the tree. This time I think we should give to the tree. Won't you help me?"
I felt a passing twinge of disgust. I rubbed my upper lip with the back of my hand and thought I smelled the faint smell of diesel. I heard myself say, "Hand me a shovel."
An hour later I had fulfilled the lady's request to deposit the duffel bag deep within the new garden's soil. She lit a cigarette I recognized. She blew some smoke in my face and it smelled like sour milk.
"Ever read a boy and his dog?" she asked.
I nodded.
"This is the opposite," she said. I smelled the diesel again and then remembered no more.
This morning I awoke feeling none too swell. I got my glasses on without dropping them for a change then sort of hobbled to the kitchen area to make some tea. I opened the blinds and there was my weeping willow tree. Swaying gently in the Sunday early June overcast chill.
Implacable. Inscrutable. True to it's nature. The day was gray as a widow's anniversary.
Well, there's always tea, I thought, ever the optimist. And then I dropped my, "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." mug on my foot, simultaneously battering and scalding it. I let out a yelp.
Then, mouth agape, I smelled the diesel waft in the window by the fire escape. The window, where, leaning against the fire escape's stairs I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder.
I spied two shovels and an empty duffle bag.
I wonder what spirit will have to say about that?
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
Willow Weep For Me?

This is more a gift to a friend (Hi Kelly~) who loves unique and wonderous apparel in DnD! Go wild, have fun and get creative with your ideas~ (BTW - Most of these are things pulled from my personal concepts list, which is an huge blend of various sources and cool ideas, if your concept is among these please do contact me so I may put appropriate credit)
​

1. A long, diaphanous, red veil that shimmers with crushed amber shards that dance like sultry flames whenever its bearer breathes or moves.
2. A Military Uniform, in white and sky-blue color, with a unicorn emblem
3. Night-blue silk robe with tiny sparkles that seem to shimmer like stars
4. A finely tailored bodice made from the softest, most supple leather taken from yearling lambs. The bodice is lined with samite and trimmed with beaded lace.
5. A wool shawl, embroidered with scenes of pastures.
6. An elegant dress with rich black silk back and sides and a deep purple velvet insert in the front creating a striking combination of fabrics. The solid half-sleeves have a beautiful floral pattern, tree-cornered lace that falls into a point of silver-thread piping.
7. A delicate shawl, lacy and fringed, woven from pearly spider silk.
8. A dark blue silk mantle lined with white mink fur and embroidered in abstract silver diamond patterns at collar and hem.
9. Sleeping Gown - A classic out of time, sleep wear that predates pajamas, the sleeping gown is the flowing sleeping dress that makes every girl feel like a princess. They are expensive but apparently the nobleman is crazy rich and he is paying. If you pick this you want to feel like a princess, a warrior princess or are taking the opportunity to have someone else pay for the most opulent garment that technically counts as underwear that a girl can buy in stores. This Sleeping gown absorbed both the residual occult energies left behind by an animism ritual practices and the stuff of legends that you and your compatriots made that night. As a result this sleeping gown has become literally the stuff of fairy tales as anyone wearing it gains the ability to communicate with birds through the use of intricate and beautiful whistled melodies.
10. A pair of finely embroidered silk shoes that make you want to dance -- and apparently dance much better than you usually do.
11. A knee-length linen tunic so fine as to be nearly sheer, with multicolored embroidered bands at all hems depicting wildlife, flowers and fantastical beasts.
12. A heavy, exquisitely brocaded robe beaded with pearls.
13. Sakura Kimono - When worn, you can summon a gentle rain of cherry blossoms, even indoors. Iteasily puts people in a good drinking mood. And they're so pretty. It also lets you magically unsummon the petals to easily clean up afterwards
14. Three Dresses and a Donkeyskin - You receive three dresses. One with all the colors of the sky being the most beautiful blue of heaven, one bright as the sun (not literally - it won't burn your eyes off) of gold and diamonds, and one with all the beauty of the moon. Also, you get the hide of a donkey to wear with a special property - so long as you're wearing it, people will think you're dirt ugly no matter how clearly attractive you are.The three dresses do the opposite, enhancing your beauty.
15. Purring Scarf: When you pet the scarf, it purrs softly. Popular with noble magic users.
16. A veil of creamy, silken fiber shorn from a unicorn’s mane, hung from a braid of cloth-of-gold.
17. A silken night-robe of midnight blue and black, decorated in mystic imagery of clouds and stars in lavender and silver.
18. A blue silk djellaba, embroidered with floral patterns in silver thread.
19. A veil of black silk decorated with crimson embroidery and trimmed with tiny gold drops.

hiii 💓 me: transgender icon, you: not a creep
all my friends have gone to their hometowns and i'm so bored 😭
​
some things about me (in order of relevancy)
· i'm latina but i lived in Barcelona since like forever
· i do 420 sometimes (which happens to include right now)
· i have a pet bunny
· etc (ran out of things)
​
please don't be underage <3 xo

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I'm (27F) doubtful about a surprise trip for my SO (33M) birthday
Hi, I need some advice concerning a trip for my long term bf (Jon, 8 years together). Jon and his friend Ben talked about a 4 days trip to Amsterdam a few weeks ago. Nothing came of it since we were all busy.
Four of Ben friend would have come and they'd rent an Airbnb. I throught it'd be nice to plan it as a surprise for his birthday (amost to the day). Ben told Jay the trip was cancelled (by message) as I was next time to Jon, we live together.
But what Jon said made me rethink a few things. He doesn't know Ben's friend (fair).
He doesn't like sleeping away from home and didn't know how the airbnb would be. That's on me, I need to work out the details and take a look at the rooms (private or not).
I'd be left alone at house while he's having fun. To be honest we're kind of hermits. We don't get out often and without each other's. I'm pretty sure it will do him good. It doesn't bother me at all.
Admittedly I spoke to Ben in a rush and omitted some important details. What happens if his social battery ran out? Wouldn't four day be too long? If the airbnb is that great will this stress him too much?
I think I should compromise and join them the third day, book an hotel room for us two for the last. It'd be half half. I've never made him such a surprise. Not gonna lie, it's stressing to keep a poker face and not being able to talk to him at the risk of revealing the surprise.
Or let him go and offer to buy his train ticket when he wants go back home if four days is too long that it becomes stressful.
Cancelling is always possible but it'd be sad, Ben not often available and we are planning a trip for the two of us soon.
TLDR: Bf and I are hermits and I plan him a surprise vacation. Worried it might be a bad idea and bad planning, I'm looking for advice

Carmen introduces her friend to her daughter, as well as the little girl’s pet cockroach, Hushy.

This lovely bird was flying around in our garden and is extremely friendly with humans. He won't leave our house and we believe he is someone's pet.

Throwaway account cause I don't want this on my main.
So me (M17) and my twin brother, Harry (17), were almost abducted from an amusement park when we were in elementary school. ALMOST, because a highschooler, George, saw what was happening and stepped in and helped us get back to our parents.
We moved shortly after because of our dad’s work, so we thought we’d never get a chance to see George again to properly thank him.
Might not sound related, but while we were kids, we begged our parents to let us to do stuff like be in child pageants, cause we were dumb and thought George would see us on TV or something. Like I said, we were dumb.
Anyway, we moved back to our hometown, and as it turns out, we live across the street from George and his younger brother, Michael (16).
We’ve been trying to get George’s attention ever since we moved in. It’s like full-on Stacy’s Dad for us. We’re down bad.
For example, we were going to crash a Christmas party at their house, but George ended up inviting us so we were really giddy leading up to it.
Now on to the conflict: Michael doesn’t like us. He’s been accusing us of wanting to take George for ourselves. Honestly? That’d be the dream, but we’re not gonna ADMIT that to him!
Here’s where we might be TA: we invited George over while Michael wasn’t home. George didn’t have his phone with him, and didn’t leave a note. When Michael got home, he didn’t know where George was, and got really panicked, calling his (Michael’s) friends over to help him look.
When Michael found out where George was, he was pissed off at us. Like, he and his friends barged into our house. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, and trashed our home theater. One of them found our pet hamster and took it out of the cage as a hostage??? But George wasn’t angry at us, and said he remembered us being the kids he saved from the attempted kidnapping! And that he was happy we'd grown big and strong!
So, are we TA? It’s not like it’s illegal to invite a neighbor over to your house to hang out, so Harry and I really think Michael’s overreacting!

Today, I added a pic of Pedro to my digital picture frame. Otherwise, it’s all people I know, friends and family and pets. I wonder how long it will be before someone notices?
Too much…?

Sooooo, it was the end of the school year, our teachers kinda gave up, and everyone was crazy af. So uh.. yeah.
During testing days, before everyone went crazy, I decided to go to school in some fancy high heels. I spent the entire day in them and on the way to lunch, me and my friend decided to RUN down the fucking hill. I survived but I almost tripped. Well, yea everyone was like, omg omg your heels are so pretty.
We had like a free time in PE when the gym had like this little thing going on in there so we had to go to Big Shady instead (where I think elementary students go to PE instead) and we were allowed to go on our phones and thats when I found out about character.ai.... yeah.. we don't talk about what happened...
But uhm, when I got home I was like pretending to have homework but instead I was going on character ai to.. have some fun.. complete respect to my mom.
So me and Brooke, I showed her character ai.. turned out she knew about it already and we were in math having our free time. Y'all know those little uh counter tops that are usually and the side of the room? Yeah those are fucking comfortable for some reason. I then showed her a chat though screenshots that I had not to long ago and he was being fucking horny. He was not one of those characters to get like that. During the last day of school, we were like, "Omg, we've been doing little pyramids with full milk cartons that we nicked from the lunch line for a while now, let's do a tower with 26 CARTONS!" (that was my idea). We got in trouble once but our parents didn't get told.. my friend got her ID taken away. We did the tower and everyone was like what the fuck and I felt that my boyfriend was going to murder me for drinking so much chocolate milk. I give full respect to my history teacher and my science teacher, for putting up with me drinking chocolate milk in class, the admin, who I managed to get him to take a picture of the tower, and most of all, the lunchladies, who clearly were fed up with me and Brooke.

Hello! I was just walking my dog and we came across an orange tabby cat wandering around the parking lot of 170 Bayview Ave. (Bayview and Lawren Harris Square). I tied up my dog and tried to see if the cat was friendly; it killed a field mouse and then ran to hide underneath a CCSL group van. It didn't appear to be wearing a collar but looked well fed and groomed, guessing it is someone's pet. Anyway, I was thinking of going back to see if I could lure the cat into a carrier but I have two dogs and a cat staying in my small apartment right now and realistically it wouldn't be a good idea to bring it back here since I have no room to keep the cat separated. I don't really know what the point of this post is, but I am hoping that the cat's owner sees this or someone that might be able to help the kitty out if they are indeed lost/not an outdoor cat. (I didn't have my phone with me at the time so unfortunately no photo.)