The naming of cats

Well, the nameless kitty got in big trouble yesterday - found her way down to the basement, where there are roughly 100 hiding places for a slender six-month-old cat, and kept running from us fast and low to the ground.  I got very upset, as hiding is what cats do when they're dying, and Sheba is so fresh in my mind.  Tom kept telling me she was just nervous, and in fine health - look how fast she could run.

After a fruitless half-hour of this we left her, left the stair light on and the door to the first floor open, and put out bedtime food in the feeding station near the top of the stairs.

In the morning the food was gone, but no cat.  Before I even had my coffee (!) I was looking all over the house for her.  Finally found her downstairs, but she began running again.  Okay, I said to Tom when he got up, I am ready to take that cat back.  I mean, half an hour of anxiety before I even had my coffee.  And running from her own Mom.

Happily, Tom is a more sanguine person.  And somehow, the kitty eventually came up, and we got that door shut, and by evening she was ready to do major petting and lapcat with us.  Until then she had been squirming a lot while petting, but now she assumed sphinx pose and relaxed.  We all relaxed, getting very warm feelings inside. Then she agreed to stay on my chair for an hour after I got up and put her there.  Just nervous, we agreed.  We can't imagine how this beautiful 6-month-old cat, a dead ringer for a Russian Blue, including mauve footpads, ended up in the shelter.

So this morning I woke up with her name - Natasha Lavender Starpaws.  When we came home mid-day from grocery shopping, we had Ears - that is, she peeked out from her spot on the sill between the den and the living room.  I love to come home to Ears.  I missed that. Now it's almost time for the evening news, and major petting.  I feel healthier too, due no doubt to the antibiotic . . .