I just can’t let the day end without giving a nod to telling anyone who will listen that today is Josephine’s first Re-Birthday! We picked her up on a cold, blustery, rain and snow afternoon. I asked husband to drive me to the yarn shop. I stopped in at the PetSmart to coo at the cats as I always do. There were three. A butterscotch and white handsome fellow who said hellohellohellooo! He was adorable and half of his fur stayed on my black coat. The next was a pretty black and white who was not particularly interested in me. And the third was a 4½ pound tortie with a broken toe and broken tail who had just been spayed. She was curled in a tight, unwelcoming, feral ball. Husband asked, “Which one do you want?” And I said, “This one.” “This one” was duly named Josephine after Josephine March in Little Women. Friend Judy said, “You didn’t get a kitten, you got a project.” Since it took eight weeks before I could even touch her with one finger much less pet her, oh, yes, she was a project. But now, it is a year later, she is about 18 months old, and she sticks close by me when she isn’t sleeping on my bathrobe. She is chatty, lively and opinionated. She bounces off the walls. Really. Bounces. (I am not making this up.) To think that she was first abused, then put in a high kill shelter. Who was going to adopt a feral kitten? Well, Last Chance Animal Rescue got her the day before she was going to be killed. And two days later, she came to me.
I have a fierce sore throat, socked in sinuses and a nasty cough, but this morning I croaked my way through “Happy Birthday Darling Josephine.” And that is that.