I’ve been kinda bummed lately. This morning I was feeling down and needy; Sprocket was busy demolishing a rawhide chew so I turned to the cat for comfort. He was curled up in pre-nap position on a rug in the doorway of the bedroom and I was sitting on the bed. I said, “Finnovar, come here and see Mommy.”

Alan laughed and said, “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen - he’ll have to MOVE.” And it’s a common belief that cats don’t respond when they’re called.

But I thought he might, because cats always understand exactly how you feel. They don’t care, but they understand. The Finn got up, stretched, jumped up on the bench, jumped from there to the bed and came to cuddle. My cat loves me. This is rare and special coming from a cat, because cats are evil. Mine is particularly so, as well as rather nasty-tempered, which is why I chose him in the first place. I like a pet with attitude.

The first time I ever saw The Finn, I had come to see my mother’s cat’s new litter of kittens. He was the runt, about the size of a hamster at 7 weeks old. While the others wanted to play, he lounged on a newspaper and glared at me. The evil glare was utterly adorable, coming from something that tiny. I said, “Awww, look at you! Aren’t you just pwecious?!?” and he responded by making one of those little kitty-spitties at me. I turned to my mother and said, “I WANT THIS KITTEN!”

"There are two means of refuge from the misery of life -- music and cats."
~Albert Schweitzer.