In the Beginning

She came into our lives unannounced: a red-headed spitfire, a little wild thing as barnyard cats tend to be. Maybe she had to be meaner or crazier to survive her humble beginnings because she was so much tinier than the average cat. Reputedly, red-heads are hot-tempered and independent, and so she was in all her glorious marmalade fur. She had extra toes making her paws looks like big-thumbed mittens, despite their dainty pink-skinned under pads. A pink rosebud nose was framed by a white fur moustache accentuated east and west with delicate but long white whiskers. All this was topped with large, expressive, all-knowing, emerald green eyes, and perky ears sloughed with white fur.

It was Daughter who brought her home, introducing her to Dad and me as "Megan". Megan didn’t take kindly to being held or petted but would squawk loudly, complainingly, anytime someone presumed they could pick up this small wee thing for a cuddle. Okay. Squawk isn’t quite the right word. It was more of a blood curdling scream. A cuddler she most definitely was not, and she let you know it.

I (unknowingly to one day become Megan’s “Mistress”) persevered, insisting on holding Megan just a wee bit every day despite the loud complaints and tiny paws pushing stubbornly against my chest. Megan slowly began to enjoy this attention but only on her terms and only for so long. Petting too she learned to tolerate; eventually even seeking it out. Perhaps it was the joy of a full body massage or perhaps she’d simply been taken from her mother too soon. Whatever the reason, she soon earned a new name. But that's another story. And so begins the Saga of Mistress, Mister and "Megan".