We quickly came to be known in our little neighborhood as "the cat people", because we had endeavored to stop the runaway reproduction of feral cats here. We have not had to do any trapping; they all came to us willingly. This is a semi-rural, middle-class work-a-day southern neighborhood, with a broad spectrum of walks of life, age, and circumstance. Our street is a dead-end; the land beyond being protected farmland. We could see ourselves being overrun with wild, intact cats if something were not done, and quick! Un-neutered/spayed cats can reproduce at an alarming rate. Territorial wars and mating rituals can ruin the serenity of quiet country living. Resulting kittens deserve better than the very poor odds given for survival in the wild. There was already a history of most of the kittens just "disappearing".

We eventually won all the Mothers' trust, then socialized and fostered out all the kittens that were produced. Then we had the ferals spayed/ neutered. At one point, our local Veterinarian was giving us "volume discounts"! We also took in some "special cases" from other neighborhoods. Fostering has its rewards, but there is always the danger of becoming attached, and adoption day is a bittersweet event. Thus stopping the cycle, we kept the first-born male of litter one, and named him Dickens. He was a real dickens as a kitten, too, but has turned out to be totally misnamed. He is the sweetest Tomcat (neutered, of course) you will ever meet, unless you are a stray tomcat. He doesn’t go outside much, but when he does, he rules the roost and protects the females. One of them is his own Mother.

By the time we finally got the last of the moms in to be spayed, the local vet jokingly said "Hope I don’t see you again for a while!" Upon arriving home, we found a note on the door asking if we had lost a kitten. We called the number and explained that all cats were present and accounted for. A young girl said had found a tiny crème tabby that couldn’t be more than 5 or 6 weeks old. Her mother was pregnant and refused to keep the cat, fearing toxoplasmosis.

"Would we be interested anyway?" "Well, yes, and no, let me think, absolutely not, well, okay, bring her by and we’ll see if we can place her for you".

Shortly, she came to our door with her mother, and the kitten. She had bathed it, lightly perfumed it, clipped its little claws and placed a nice little pink ribbon as a collar on her. She had even given her a name, "Sandi". The kitten was adorable, the color of newly sawn wood. The child was crest-fallen, as her mother was adamant: No Cats. We assured her that we would take good care of her kitty, and probably find a very good home sooner or later. She would always be welcome to come and visit if she wanted to until such time as Sandi was placed. A quick trip to the vet for shots and a look over confirmed Sandi’s health. The girl did visit, too on numerous occasions, once even cat-sitting for us while we away. She did a great job and really enjoyed herself. Obviously, "later" never came, except to say that the good home she was placed in was ours! Little did we know that the Toxoplas-whatever thing was a real threat, and would become a focus of our lives almost 3 years later.

Sandi became the light of our lives. Dickens is the sugar. No wonder Jo-Jo didn’t like her, she had competition!

Dickens was a young adolescent at this point, probably double Sandi’s size. He was very interested in our new addition, but his size and forwardness intimidated her a bit, she hissed a lot and backed up when ever he came too close. Dickens respected that, and did not push too much. Maryann’s Cassie sort of went "oh well, just another kitten" and basically ignored Sandi. My cat Jo-Jo was a basket case, and never adapted to any other cats in the house anyway, why should this one be any different? I was afraid of Jo-Jo’s aggressive behavior "doing in" little Sandi, so tried to keep them very separated. Vet bills were already high enough! Sandi couldn’t care less, but was kind of interested in the cat that wouldn’t accept her. Of course, Sandi in all her kitten-ness eventually won out all the others, just by sheer exuberance. She and Dickens were destined to be fast friends to the end. She also came to respect Jo-Jo’s desire to be left alone. Dickens still occasionally provokes Jo-Jo in a "Ha! —Made you Blink!" contest. But I digress.

This cat was amazing. She was interactive, and sensitive, and lovely to look at. She moved like a dream, and was so intelligent that she was responding to the calling of her name in only a week and inventing games. The "smarts" virtually OOZED from her eyes and was consequently underfoot constantly. I knick-named her puppy-kitty. She and Dickens would romp through the house like crazy; then she would drop on the spot and go fast asleep. This puzzled Dickens to no end. Having no fear by now, Sandi would often give Dickens a solid pounding as they sometimes positioned for dominance. He was still twice her size even as adults. There were never any injuries, and Dickens finally decided she should be Alpha Cat (in the House—the YARD was his!). She could jump straight up as high as my chest and take the stairs to our upper level in two bounds, or none going down. So athletic. She was into everything; nothing was sacred. A closed cardboard box was an easy mark, opening it in a snap, even if it was sealed. She soon learned how to open doors that weren’t latched, and became adept at opening the sliding doors to the closets. She would open one, go inside, climb up to the top shelf and wait for you to come see her. Then she would then lie on her front half and cock her head almost upside-down and give you that "aren’t I a cute kitty" look and bound off to the floor, looking for more mischief with little "purrippp" sounds as she went. If she got locked in somewhere, you soon knew about it. Even as an adult she did all these things and more.