As we pulled into the driveway on that balmy August evening, our headlights caught the eyes of a cat as it turned and disappeared under our mobile home. Living in a neighborhood teeming with ferals, strays and under loved pets, we had sadly learned to turn our heads. There were just too many to help. All we could afford to do was leave a little food outside for them, and hug our own little ones a little tighter. Three was all we could handle, both financially and space-wise. As time went on those emerald green eyes emerged as a dirty white long haired cat that was so loaded with fleas that you could see them crawling all over her coat. The first time I saw her in the daylight was when I was packing my car up to go on a camping trip. Being a hot summer day, I had left the window open, and had gone back into the house for a few minutes. When I came back out I found her in my car. She had torn open a loaf of bread and was voraciously devouring it. She ran when she saw me coming, but came back when I approached her with a big helping of cat food.

It didn’t take long for her to become friendly. Within a few days she would seem to emerge from nowhere when I would pull into the driveway, and would jump into my arms. My roommate, Bette, on the other hand, avoided her. She fed her....but kept a distance to protect her heart from breaking.

One day a neighbor told us that the park manager was having animal control come in the following few days, and have all the strays rounded up and destroyed. Later, that evening we were on the deck talking about the strays. Our hearts were heavy. We wanted to protect them. We knew it was unrealistic to expect to save them all, but we wanted to do something for the little one who had taken up residence under our home. While we were talking she came up for her evening meal. Bette had an idea. She disappeared into the house and came back out with an old red collar that had belonged to one of our cats. "Maybe," she said, "If they see a collar on her they will think she belongs to someone and leave her alone." As Bette reached down to put the collar on her, Trixie stretched her neck up. It was as if she knew the collar meant that someone cared about her.

The deception worked. Trixie was not scooped up with the others. She continued to live under our home for a few days, until one rainy September night, Bette was awakened to a scratching sound at her window. There, at the window was a very wet, flea bitten, dirty white cat with a red collar on. On that night Bette opened her window, her heart, and her home to the cat who had chosen her.

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