Places in the heart...

In the fall of 2001 I went to the vet to pick up some flea treatment for our dog and was persuaded to rescue a cat that had been brought in to be euthanized because her owner had to take care of a grandbaby and didn't want her any more. Her name was Skeeter. She hated us on sight and never warmed up to us. We never developed a bond with her. We gave her away, and the people who took her called three days later and told us to come and get her. We did.

Then our son moved back home temporarily while he was between jobs, bringing with him his little cat, also called Skeeter. So we had Big Skeeter and Little Skeeter. I started calling her Squeaker because she has a very high, squeaky meow.

He got a job a few weeks later in St Louis, and once he was settled in his new apartment, we traded cats. He took Big Skeeter and we kept Little Skeeter. He changed Big Skeeter's name to Fat Toad and she promptly fell in love with him, and they were  best friends forever, at least until she died a couple of years later.

Funny thing how animals that we take into homes also have a way of getting into our hearts if we are not careful. 

This little cat infuriates us. She is hilariously funny. We hate her. We love her. She has us, me particularly, well trained.

She certainly loves us. When we take a 2-mile walk -- and yes, it is frequently nice enough here in the winter to take a walk -- she often follows to the beginning of the road

and then sits and waits patiently for us to return.

And when I go outside with the camera to take pictures of crocus in the snow,

she comes along. Doing any sort of work in the snow takes extra energy.

Walking in it,

and especially going berserk

 takes a lot out of a small kitty.

That is why after a few minutes of having fun in the powdery white stuff, it is important to come in with your human... assume the hairy meatloaf position on the couch in front of the heater.... and then one's head gets so.... so.... heavy and pretty soon....

plop, down it goes.