A cat (feline) usually selects his or her caretaker, but in my case, a Hispanic boy of about six had cast me off to a neighbor who had also young children with whom he played with from time to time.
It was the spring of 1994 when he carried me to what was to be my new home, where a blond haired young man opened the gate and listened to the boys story of how he had found me and others under the house. He wanted to know if he would want to take me in, knowing my mother was a ferial feline. Without any hesitation the man held out his arms and opened his hands to receive me.
In front of daddy's studio, 1995
At first I kept my distance and even when my caretaker held out his hand, I would smack it, resulting in a number of scars that to this day are still visible. The next few years there was an uneasy truce, during which he was always very carrying. Even his children were very much part of my life, especially his daughter Ariana.
A few years later I was to undergo some major changes to my surroundings when we all moved to a new home. It was not only much larger; the backyard was huge compared to the small one I grew up in. At first I was hesitant to explore the outside, besides I was still busy getting to understand the lay of the land in the new house, exploring the different rooms and watching as things all went in their place.
The years have been very good, I no longer swipe my paw with claws extended at my caretaker, and when I think about my mother, how she tried to keep us together and provide for us, I cannot complain. For the world I now know is so very different to the one I left.
The new location also had a number of perks, for not only was the garden much larger and full of wonder, I had a greater territory to patrol and protect, which also allowed me to catch more birds, mice and play butterflies, or with crane flies trapped behind the glass sliding door, when I was back in the master bedroom.
It has also meant I would be challenged by neighboring cats and other rouge cats, making it tough at times because of my small size. Sadly after mostly carefree years, a dog attacked me almost two years ago, while I was outside and my caregiver was gone. The attack has left me fear from venturing past any door of the house unless an adult human is with me and there to protect me. Even then I no longer feel comfortable to explore the area that once was my domain.
As for getting older, I seem to mostly move from bed to bed, pillow to pillow, going outside for a little fresh air and chewing on ornamental grasses. Finding places of comfort and especially being there when the sun shines into the room.
My companion has set me up with a large pillow of my own and a small blanket by the bedroom window over looking the balcony and backyard, allowing me to keep an eye on the birds visiting their feeders.
Life is good . . .