Okay, Smokey is the oldest of my five cats. I've had her for two or three years, and though I probably shouldn't admit to having one, she IS my favorite.

Her story is a rather sad one, and it makes you wonder that such people actually exist. I was visiting with a friend's family members out of town, and noticed a pitifully skinny little bag of bones mewling on their doorstep. Well, of course I asked if they knew where it came from. "Yes," I was told, "it used to be ours, but we gave it to the people at the other end of the block, and it won't quit coming back." They actually seemed angry at the poor confused kitten for not knowing where home was, and had made up their minds that it was no longer their responsibility to feed it.

I don't respond well to people who abuse or neglect animals, so I scooped up the kitten, told my friend it was time to GO, and brought the poor thing home with me.

As you can see, though, despite the fact that she very nearly starved to death as a young thing, my Smokey grew into a most beautiful well-loved adult, and can barely stand to be separated from me. I do love her best.

What a sleepy kitty!!!