In 2006 I bought a small townhouse and moved in shortly before Halloween. Two weeks later, a little orange cat showed up and tried telling me that she lived there. I, however, thought I was a dog person, so I didn't believe her. Fortunately for her my neighbor took her in. I did indeed try having dogs a few months later, but found that my lifestyle was not good for them or me (I work long hours and can't always predict when I'm going to be home). I worked with the adoption agency I got the dogs from to find new homes for them where they were much happier, but that left me petless.

During this time, little Kitty would still try to come over and tell me that she lived there. I still didn't believe her. My neighbor had been sent to Australia for work, leaving Kitty with a house-sitter that she hated. As the year turned colder, I saw her outside more and more. I would let her come in for a few minutes to warm up, but didn't want to seem like I was stealing my neighbor's pet. One particularly cold night I finally accepted that this was where she wanted to live. I left a note for the house-sitter letting her know that I'd be happy to take Kitty - I was almost never home and awake at the same time the house-sitter was there. She came over late that night and said I was welcome to the cat. She'd checked with my neighbor (as did I when he finally returned from overseas), and everyone was happy with the arrangement. Especially Kitty.

Kitty was right, this was her house. I'm convinced she lived there with the previous owner, decided she didn't like the new place after the owner moved, and came back home. She and I have been happy ever since. Mostly. She's not too thrilled I brought another cat (a rescue) into the house a few years ago, but they have an uneasy truce now. And that is another story.

Julia
Laurel, MD