Twenty-two years ago, my family visited my husband's family and while we were chatting, a mama cat showed with her two babies, a silver and a mottled brown tabbies. Instantly, my sons were enthralled. Our big cat of twelve years, Snuffer, had just passed two months prior. They begged, "Can we keep 'em? Can we?"
Handsome looked at me. I'd had a hard time of letting go of Snuffer. He was our first baby, the one we adopted after we married. I still missed him deeply.
As a mom, we all know that pleading look on our child's face. It melted my heart. I said, "Yes."
We bought a crate and drove nine hours home with the stinkin' things screaming constantly. We would open the crate door and they'd hiss. I wasn't sure the adoption would work out.
Once home, we would pull them from the crate, show them a potty box, feed, and shove them back in the crate several times a day. About three days later, I opened the door and heard...a purr.
Romper, the silver one, became a favorite because she was "pretty." When I heard that, my heart melted a second time for Scooter, the brown one. Scoo was sweet. And I whispered in her ear "you're mine."
As the Fourth of July comes near, I celebrate my kitties. Romper has gone on, but we still have Scoo. She is now twenty-two.