Today, my boy Smokey turns 16.
He and his litter mates were born on Halloween, on the front porch of a co-worker of mine at the time. Their mom was a stray. When they were eight weeks old, my co-worker brought all six (or eight) kittens to work. I chose Rosie because my co-worker said she had a little red mouse toy that she loved to carry around in her mouth. And I picked Smokey because two kittens is better than one.
Those first weeks, Rosie still played with her little red mouse (my co-worker let Rosie keep her favorite toy), and Smokey was almost called Sir Hiss A lot. You can probably guess why. I didn’t blame him. It had to be stressful leaving his brothers and sisters, not to mention his mother, to come live in a new place that included two eight year old cats—my girls, Tinker and Bella.
Rosie, Tinker and Bella are gone now, so it’s just Smokey and me. He is my much loved companion. We have a special bond. Anyone who’s loved a companion animal knows what I mean.