Some of you know that I have three cats. Three's my number. Three is plenty to pet, feed, take to the vet, keep track of, clean up after. I had four cats for several years and it was fine but it was one too many. Nellie's the old lady at 10, Frannie is 3, and Sammy is 18 months. They get along fine. Nellie is very social and unflappable. Frannie is fiercely loyal and loving and a classic 'fraidy cat. Sammy is a pistol and such a boy! As I said, they get along fine and there was only the briefest period of adjustment when each joined the household.
Thursday morning Evie arrived. Evie's mom was dumped pregnant at the vineyard where my sister Shannon lives. She's not the first pregnant cat to show up there that way. And when the kittens are old enough, the owners, Brian and Theresa, trap them and get them neutered and vaccinated. If they catch the kittens young enough, the local humane society will take them for adoption. Evie was too old when they finally caught her. There was no room at the inn.
So Shannon sent me Evie's picture and hoped I'd find a home for her. I circulated the picture among some friends who had talked about maybe, sort of, thinking about a cat. But there was no taker. I get a cat-looking-for-a-home email about every two months and I forward them and I forget about them. But I didn't forget about Evie. She stayed on my mind. It wasn't the picture, though she was cute enough. I didn't know what it was but on Wednesday I called Shannon to see if Evie had a home. She didn't. She was headed outside to fend for herself against coyotes, owls, eagles, hawks. (Brian and Theresa do feed the ferals.) And so I agreed to take her. She arrived Thursday morning. By Saturday morning, I knew why.