This is Bob's Mom. Bob was in PetGurl's room that he claims as his own when she's not visiting. I hear a knock at the patio door--or something resembling a knock-- and look up to see a big orange and white face staring from beneath the blinds. I opened the door and Winston strolls in as if he had just stepped out for a few minutes to play in the grass. He went straight to Bob's bowl for a bite to eat and drank from the fountain about four times. It has been very warm here--in the upper 90's and up to 102 degrees out with no rain.so I'd think he'd be past thirsty.
Oh, well. He's back in his favorite spot over my head on the back of the sofa. I think he's reading my net book over my shoulder, actually.
Welcome home, Winston Henry.