My parents had a Russian Blue named Foggy that died when I was just an infant. He had belonged to the college student next door neighbor but Foggy was conveniently absent when she had to load up her car to return home. He moved himself into my folk's house that same day. When he passed, mom got me a stuffed kitten to drag around the house. I took it everywhere.

When I was 3, there was a daily battle to get me to eat breakfast. Mom left the kitchen one day and I took my bowl of Cheerios out to a kitten in the driveway. Mama Puss stayed 10 years and was later joined by other cats.

When I got my first apt. all to myself, I was given a runty kitten that had been dropped off at a goodwill store. Tilly lived 3 days. Mom, knowing I was upset about not being able to nurse this kitten back to health, went to the shelter in my home town and picked out Maggie. She lived with me for 3 years until my neighbor started dealing drugs. I couldn't find an apt that would take cats in a hurry so when mom heard I was going to extend my current lease another year, she cat-nabbed Maggie. Maggie lived with them another 13 years spending most of her days supervising my father's daily schedule. That cat could talk - and she'd tell ya!

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