Peaches

This little black kitten showed up in our yard on July 2, 2004, afraid of nothing and determined that this would be her new home. Bill thought we had enough cats, I think we had three then, and did his best to shoo her away. She had no fear of him or his weed-eater and hung around long enough to make it official: she was indeed home.

She had been here about a week, and we still had not named her. I had a batch of peaches Bill was peeling and I was freezing. He had loads of help from the little black kitten, which, looking back on it now, was just a precursor to her behavior when someone comes to work on my computer and she insists on helping. Well, being in the way, but you get my drift. Bill pushed her away one more time and said, "I guess we might as well name her Peaches. She seems to like them." And it stuck.

She had not been here too long when she broke a back leg. We have no idea how it happened, other than we found some things on the floor in the garage that had fallen from a high shelf, so maybe she tried to jump up there and fell down along with things from the shelf. I dutifully took her to the vet and they set the break and put a cast on the leg.

Well, we hadn't been home an hour before she figured out a way to pull that cast off, so back we went for a redo. I think she managed to get it off once more before deciding it wasn't worth it and left it alone. She healed nicely, but I think it curbed her desire to jump in the highest of places.

She is a funny little cat; for the most part her method of communication is a growl. She asks to be petted, gets in my face, and then when I try to cuddle and pet, she fusses and bites and jumps down. It definitely has to be her idea. Her favorite place, the only place she will actually jump in my lap and curl up, is when I am in the bathroom. Then when I am ready to get up, she gets mad and fusses at me before jumping down. Go figure.

Peaches is six years old now and shows no sign of changing her method of communication, but she has become more needy of attention and makes sure she is wherever we are, just to make sure she doesn't miss anything. I guess cats are suseptible to FOMO (fear of missing out) just like people.

I am glad she decided that we were the family she wanted, because we would have been the ones to miss out-on knowing her.

The Sofa Cat

It was homecoming week, September 17, 2002. The high school building was wide open that evening with kids and teachers wandering aimlessly, some actually working, to decorate the halls for spirit contests for the upcoming football game.

The next  morning several of us were visiting in the workroom before first period when we heard a faint little meow. Being the smart people we were, we all jumped up and exclaimed, "That's a kitten!" and set about, unsuccessfully,  to find it. There was no way to know if it had just walked into the open building or some student had brought it and dumped it. At this point it didn't matter how it came to be there, and we finally decided it had somehow gotten between the walls because it was nowhere to be found. The bell rang and I went to my first period class. After first period I went back in the workroom to discover the sofa turned upside down in the middle of the room, the back fabric slit from top to bottom, and Coach David Wood, the same Coach Wood who would go on to take his team to the state championship in 2008, down on the floor, all six foot-two of him, with his arm buried in the back of the sofa feeling around for the mystery kitten, who was by then petrified and unwilling to be rescued.

I had to go back to second period. Time passed. Suddenly Michele Barton, the school nurse, rushed in with with this little ball of gray fur clinging desperately to her. Skinny, eyes matted, nose running, the  kitten with a short crooked little tail was scared to death and holding on for dear life."Here, Alice, you take her. Look, she loves you," she said as she plies the  kitten loose from her shirt and pushed her onto me.

Yeah, sure. This cat is scared to death; she would cling to anyone who made her feel safe. "You take her, Michele. I have three cats already."

"My dogs would eat her.YOU take her," as she pushed me out the classroom door.

It was decided she would watch my class since she didn't have a class that period, so I can have the kitten checked out by the vet before taking her home. Off I went on this mission of mercy. Keep in mind this was homecoming week and that day was Hippie Day so there I was in full regalia; tie-dye T-shirt, jeans, sandals, hair straight and parted down the middle, big earrings, trying to calm this little cat as I drove to the vet's office, five miles out on the highway. I left her there and rushed back to school.

Back at school, Michele had everything under control. I slipped back into teaching mode, things settled back down to normal, and I didn't get fired for leaving class under emergency circumstances. Well, we thought it was an emergency. God bless small schools and small towns. I don't think this would have ever happened in a big school. We felt comfortable enough with each other to get this done without a hitch: the kids were on task, the kitten was rescued, and Mr. Jenkins, the principal, knew us well enough to know we had taken care of business without having to bother him.

The students were all aware of the story, especially my first and second period classes, and they asked for updates on the kitten from time to time. My other cats accepted her, and even my husband Bill, who was convinced three cats were enough,  became her good friend.

And that is the story of how Sophie, the sofa cat found a home and now lives happily ever after with us.

Yes, this is the same cat. Her winter coat is a slightly different color. When she sheds off, her color is a prettier gray, like the first picture.