Brinkley spent half of his estimated 10 years of life as a stray being fed by people near Francis and No. 1 Road.
Going to visit him this week for the first time, I wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t look too impressed when I said hello to him from outside his cage; then he went on to sit – pointedly, I thought – with his back to me when I entered.
But he let me stroke him without a fuss, and Barb reported from her vantage point outside the cage that he was actually kneading the air with his paws as his feet dangled over the edge of his perch.
Then he turned around and began the cuddling in earnest. Somewhere along the way between almost eliciting a hiss when I walked in and getting treated to rubs and head butts at the present moment, I’d missed the memo that the 10 seconds were up.