So a little gray kitty showed up at my door meowing, hungry and bony. I fed her a little half and half in a small bowl, which she slurped down like it was her last meal. I kept it up in small doses, and between eating, I petted her. She mewed and cried and bleated and squeaked, sounding like a cat toy made to sound like a ouse.

Then we moved on to a little tuna and tuna water, the nasty kind that I bought by accident. She was not picky. We sat outside on the deck and she curled up on my lap. Then I stretched out for a nap, and she joined me on my chest. Pretty soon, she was purring and so was I.

She wanted to come in, so I let her. Pretty soon she was quite at home. Dave went to Trader Joe’s and returned home with cat food and litter and a scratching post. He found a small older catbox in our garage, leftover from the Lucy and Alice era, our first felines. No name kitty used the cat box, then went straight to the scratching post and scratched like a champion. What a cat!

That night we closed the door to the bedroom, and kitty slept somewhere downstairs, probably under the family room couch, because that’s where I found her the next day. One thing led to the next as it often does with a cat. She slid right into the family and joined our home with little fuss, as if she’d always been here.