A Heart for Cats

I have cats. I have three indoor cats. They are precious to me, each in their own way. Romeo is almost twelve years old, weighs more than twenty pounds, and is cantankerous or loving (depending on his mood). Strax and Vastra are three years old, siblings, and named after characters from Doctor Who. My husband and I adopted Romeo when he was six months old. Strax and Vastra were about four weeks old when I found them in the shed in the back yard.

My husband didn’t even know I had them in the house for two weeks. I kept them in my study-now craft room. He found them when a breaker tripped. The breaker box is in my closet. He immediately sent me a text to let me know he found my secret. He is the one that named the kittens. I did not.

For the past two years, I have been taking care of our three indoor cats and, since I found my two kittens in the backyard, feeding the stray cats in the neighborhood. This past summer, all the stray cats still in the neighborhood, grew up in my backyard. So, I call the dozen or so strays my friends.

A few of them do keep me company when I spend time outside. When I dye paper and hang it in the backyard to dry, at least two cats will come and investigate what I’m doing. Some of them will allow me to pet them and a couple even rub against my legs for petting. They are some of the best friends this country girl could ask for.