It was just before summer, 1997, and I was spending a lot of time at my boyfriend's house. One day a calico cat showed up on the property and much to every one's dislike: I fed her. Naturally, she stuck around and eventually grew on everyone. I even caught her in the house a time or two because they took pity on her (and secretly liked her). A few weeks later the new cat had kittens. Six of them! Right there in the shed. My boyfriend's parents were thrilled. Sadly, days later, before the newborn kittens even had their eyes open, we found the cat dead by the cow barn. One of the brother's girlfriends helped me take care of the kittens. We fed them special milk out of tiny little kitty bottles and washed them with our finger in a washcloth to simulate the feeling of their mother's tongue, we played with them and cuddled with them all the live long day. There were two all black kitties, two black with white markings and two calico girls - one long haired, one short. When they were ready to break from the litter we had to find them new homes right away. One stray cat was one thing, six were another.
I begged my mom to take one of the kitties. We already had Stubby, but I convinced her he needed a friend. She only wanted a calico. The cutest by far was the long haired, but a little girl wanted her, so she took the short hair - which was really my favorite anyway, she was the most playful. And so was the beginning of Little Orphan Annie.
We called her Annie B., Annie Bananie and Stinky. She was the best! She would purr and purr and purr so loudly. She loved to be rubbed right under her little white chin and her spotted, leopard belly. She had beautiful markings, especially the black lining around her eyes. She was just the sweetest thing, which I always thought was because she had been handled so much since she was born and didn't grow up learning about hunting for food or defending herself. She learned quick enough with Stubby around! They were so cute together. But unlike Stubby, Annie took everything in stride whether it be golden retrievers or moving and road trips. Nothing phased her, she just kept on purring.
She was eleven years old when she died this morning. She had been my comfort through divorce and moving and starting over more than once. It was always wonderful to go home and see her. I'm so thankful to have had the kitties with me this summer. I miss them both so much, but I have an extra sadness today. I love you, Annie.
