Crusty Christy gets her name from a few different versions of herself. The first version is the cat that we trapped at the finest cat pile this side of the Mississippi. She was such a raging….uhhh…delight… in that trap that we referred to her as this “Crusty ol ______” on account of her lack of hospitality towards the folks that wanted to help her out of harms way. Now, we had intended to spay her and put her in a beautiful barn home until Crusty morphed into Christy overnight- offering head bonks to her new favorite human, motoring like Sister Christian and being this incredibly affectionate version of her current self. This gal doesn’t belong in a barn. At somewhere around ten years of age, she has been through MORE than enough of her share of outdoor adventures. She deserves to spend the rest of her now-toothless days (post a VERY necessary dental) lounging in the sun, indoors, where food will never again be the finite resource it once was.