and then there were four...

In the beginning, there was Satine, Tequila, and Sunrise. In November of 2004, I adopted three kitties from the North Shore Animal League. I had only intended on adopting two. Satine was a six month old stunning British Blue whose brothers and sisters had all been adopted -- she was all personality who jumped right into my hand the moment I reached to her. Tequila and Sunrise were 1 year old brothers the league refused to separate. Tequila was a sweet, affable tabby. Sunrise was a very nervy, timid orange kitty. My roommate and I brought them all home one evening and all was well for about twenty minutes.

Sunrise started attacking, unprovoked. My roommates and I all had scratches up and down our arms. At one point, he jumped sweet little kitten Satine -- we yanked him off the attack, at which point he clawed my face -- three long scratches across my cheek. I packed the sadly feral kitty in a case and took him back to the shelter -- unable to help him or provide a home.

Tequila and Satine, however, were the most perfect cats anyone could have asked for. Satine loved any form of affection. Tequila would cuddle up next to you any time you sat down. T would sleep at my feet, Satine would nestle up next to my head and groom me while I slept.

Tequila disappeared one night while being catsat, never to return again. Satine, however, has stayed with me now for nearly six years -- five homes and two states later.


In October of 2003, my friend Catherine called me up and told me she'd found a kitten next to the dumpster at the hospital where she worked. It was barely six weeks old. She had it locked up in her guest room -- she already had four cats and couldn't take another. Could Satine use some company?

I initially said no... but the following weekend, Cath and I went up to Massachusetts for our friend's wedding, and I met Scooter for the very first time.


I couldn't say no. Scooter moved in on Halloween. Satine pretty much hated but tolerated him, which has lasted to this day.

I moved to Atlanta, kitties in tow. Living in my brother's basement, the cats shared space with Dedos, my brother's cat he's had for a million, bazillion years.

Dedos, long accustomed to being the king kitty, responded by peeing on everything.

I moved to Midtown with my current roommate. He has a fluffy black kitty, named Alexander, now 13 years old. Our three cats coexist nicely, Alex and Scooter became buddies before too long.

Cut to about 2 weeks ago. We heard a sad, pitiful, mournful yowl from somewhere in the house. We searched out the cats, who were all quite content, sleeping in their respective spots. We heard it again. It kept coming, at all hours of the night, from underneath the floor. Our basement has barely a crawlspace, so going downstairs to investigate is not really an option. It went on for a couple of hours until the yowls came from a little door in my bedroom the plumbers use to access the pipes for the bathroom.

I opened it up, and out spilled a bedraggled, rough-looking homeless kitten walking on three legs and hiking up his rear left as if it'd been broken.

Of course I fed it. And scratched his ears. And talked to him. And he talked back. A lot.

Long and short of it... we've been adopted. We tried to put him back out but within ten minutes, he'd wriggle back into the basement and to the pipes. When I went to Philadelphia last weekend, my roommate let him in and didn't put him back out.

Meet Tiger.



He's a funny looking little talkative kitten, probably about six months old. He's walking on all fours again, and adjusting quite nicely.

We are well on our way to being that crazy lady with 130 cats that was on YouTube a few weeks ago.