"Mommy, Daddy, he followed us home, can we keep him?"
How many a parent has heard that phrase? Certainly my parents heard their fair share of that. There was Basil the wandering silver tom who deigned to briefly live in our yard and partake of kibble offerings, there was the random turtle we found plodding along the sidewalk, and that beautiful silver pussycat, from the time a family friend said I could keep whatever cat I could catch in his barn... and then there was Cote. Cote was a banal tuxedo cat, maybe six months of age, who we just happened to notice on one of our numerous wanders through the neighborhood. He was hungry, eager for human company and we figured he had to be a stray, because no owner would let such big wounds go untended. We scooped him up, immediately named him Cote, which seemed like a nice unisex name as we were all two young to ascertain the cat's gender and because we'd just seen Rescuers Down Under, and brought him home.
Much to our elation, Mommy said we could keep him. Now admittedly she agreed so quickly, because she figured any cat in that bad shape was likely to go to the vet's office and never come out. That was the first thing we did with our new kitty, brought him to the vet.
The cat doctor looked at his grievous wounds, brought him into the back and my mother expected the worst. Was she ever surprised when they informed her there would be a bill of several thousand dollars and that she was now the proud owner of a third cat.
So that's how we got Cote, with no fuss over whether a home with a dog, two cats, a bird and a rabbit really needed another critter added to the mix. However once you've got a full fledge menagerie a little more chaos never hurts and certainly we three girls were thrilled. Three girls, three cats, what more could kids want?
Author: Marjorie Skiba
Artist: Marjorie Skiba
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