Cats are little hoomans

I think of Pinky, the tortoiseshell who lived next door and came around to visit every day and night for a month. Evenings, she called at the patio door until I let her in. I was puzzled, of course. Why me and not her own home? It became obvious then that the two noisy dogs there and the fact of the homeowners being out all day had much to do with her preference for my home.

I came to yearn for her company; she acted as though she belonged, and I wished she did. One night it was raining, and she hesitated at the door before going home for her supper. This was it! I opened a can of cat food I had kept on hand, and offered it to her. We both understood this was a turning point. Pinky packed up her belongings, in a manner of speaking, and moved in. How we enjoyed each other!

I wrote “Meow’s Way” starring Pinky and other cats and critters, including a little skunk who toddled in everyday to eat cat chow. The book won in the Animals Animals Animals Book Awards. The editor mentioned that my description of the game Pinky and I played (and which she invented) made him laugh so hard he had a coughing fit.

And, incidentally, Pinky’s sister, whom I named Loaner because I wasn’t sure she would stay, and brother Tango crossed over. Loaner is still with me. She is 13 years old now, and is big sister to 11-month-old Bijou, a little imp who loves the outdoors.

Saying that I miss Pinky is inadequate for how I really feel. She was special.

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