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Dear furry mom,


     “Do you want two gray kittens?”  This all we heard for six months.  Our new Mom was so proud of us she posted our pictures EVERYWHERE.  We were STARS on every bulletin board at vet’s offices in the surrounding eight counties. 

     That stormy day we were separated from you, must have been as traumatic for you, as it was for us.  I am reminded of that day, because Mom II named us, Stormy and Twister.

     The day we were separated, we were just having fun splashing in that old dirty cold puddle.  Next, we were carried away in a box.  We cried for you for hours but you must not have heard us.

      We were taken to a foster home, where Mom II took care of us for twelve weeks.  There were quite a few of us in the house, a few hanging outside as well.  I didn’t know the ages of all the cats, but I believe they must have been between one hundred years old, or somewhere close to that age, because they spent at least 22 hours a day sleeping.

     A game we played with some of the younger cats was, “Dead and Seek,” and I was usually the “seek.”  Most of the time I changed roles to “dead” because I did not want to be mistaken me for a mouse.

     “Sissies, where are you?”  Mom would call out to us - She thought we were girls until the vet told her we were boys.  She continued to call us Sissies and we spent a great deal of time and effort proving differently.

      The best place at the foster home was on Mom’s bed.  It was most annoying when she moved in the middle of the night.  There were at least five of us on the bed competing for the warmest spot -usually on top of Mom - and we would have to rearrange ourselves accordingly.

     We liked to help Mom around the house.  When she went to the refrigerator, we jumped right in to sniff out the food - heaven forbid if any leftovers had spoiled.

     Mom aged quickly during our stay.  She started to get a shuffle in her walk.  A couple of times when she tried to act young she stepped on us so I am glad when she decided to stay old.

     To get a cat’s eye view of things we learned to jump very high - especially on the counters when mom was cooking our favorite meat loaf.  We would often be drizzled with a spray bottle.  I’ll never know how Mom managed to stay dry.

     We noticed mom didn’t stay in one place to eat but rather walked around from room to room carrying her feeding bowl with her over her head.  When I noticed Mom loosing some weight, I tried to remind her to sit in one place and share the food with us.  I believe she should have included us more in her meals.  I think her problem was, she needed some more socialization and whisker rubbing.

     Because it was near Christmas, Mom sang the song, “Santa Clause is coming to Town,” over and over again.  I can still remember the lyrics – “You better watch out; you better not pout.”  My favorite part was “He knows when you are sleeping,” she pronounced  "Sweepy"  (love that part).  Once, in the car, she sang if for forty minutes straight - you think her voice would have gone horse. 

We would sing in harmony with her.

“He knows when you are sleeping


He knows when you’re awake”

“Mew,” “Mew”

“He knows if you’ve been bad or good


“So be good for goodness sakes.”

“Meow” “Meow”

“So you’d better….


     Unlike us, Panda, the resident brat cat, was a little off key and never knew where to add the “Mews”,“Mew Mew’s” or “mows”.

     Because of the lesson we learned from that song, we respected Mom’s wishes and slept whenever she went to the store.  I think if we pouted or cried she might have reported us to Santa Clause.

     I disproved Mom’s opinion that we were “good kitties.”  One day, my brother was locked out on the porch and I was bored.  All the other old folks in the house were snoozing, as usual, and I was having a grand old time: thinning out the leaves off the artificial ivy plant, jumping on the computer, knocking things over and catching ripples in mom’s glass of water with my paws.  I got more bored and knock down her files labeled, “Important Stories Working On.”  Then I made a running jump and attacked the pile of papers on the floor.  They went flying in 10,000 directions.  Then, I rearrange her 2 X 4 character, plot, and setting cards.  It was shortly after that we got our new nickname “Brats.”  Locked out on the porch all this time Twister was in his own misery. 

     The dryer was the best place in the house to hide and I don’t understand why mom would not let us sleep in there.  Whenever she put clothes in it or took them out, I heard her call to us.  If she didn’t want us in the dryer, why did she summon us?  I’ll never understand humans.  Do they want us in or do they want us out?

     We pretty much had that litter box thing under control.  After graduating from the playpen, we had full run off the house.  It was a long way to the litter boxes and sometimes we would forget where the toilets were when we get busy playing.  But Mom finally caught on and she placed kitty commodes in places that were more convenient, so that we were never being a few steps away from a toilet.  She had to make leaps from one spot to another, over several litter boxes, just to get to our food bowl – unfortunate for her.  Unfortunate for us, this delayed are dinner.

     We learned computer etiquette very early.  There is a narrow spot between the monitor and the keyboard that seems to be an OK cat zone.  The problem came when one of our other sisters tried to occupy it.  One day when we started to wrestle in this “sacred zone,” she used language that we were not familiar with - that tone of voice she used was quite rude.

     To frustrate things further there is the mouse thing connected to the computer that we were not allowed to play with.  She always has her hand on it - selfish of her not to share. Maybe I should have reported her to the, Inhumane Society, and see how she liked it when all her toys were taken from her.

     Shortly after that, we got a new name, “Little Monsters.”

     The day we left Mom put us each in a separate carrier with one of her smelly shirts.  We left all our toys and good smelling places our friends and some not so good friends. She was especially quiet that day - No singing.  When we got to our new place I did notice however, she spoke to other humans in her “social voice,” which was a few octaves above normal.  And her “sad voice” which was few decibels below her “social voice,” which makes it sound perfectly normal to humans.  But we felt true feelings behind her words.

     “Hoe hum yawn.”  I am getting sleepy, “sweepy” as mom would have said.  I was not concerned about being left at the new place as concerned about not being fed properly.  I must admit it was nice to be able to sit down and eat a meal without mom for a change, who hogs up most of the good stuff.

      Its bedtime here at the new place and there are two moms in the same bed here.  One has a hairy chest and the other all soft and pinks like my mom.  We had a ho hum meal last night and waited until midnight, but mom never returned.  Well, if she does not come back soon, I think we will just stay – here we have more kids our age and more spaces to explore.  That tall tree in the middle of the enclosed cat area looks especially enticing.

     The phone rang the other night and I recognized my mom’s voice.  It kind of hurt my feeling that she didn’t ask to talk to us, but we were in the middle of walking away nonchalantly from one of the resident monsters - who thinks he owns the place and growls ever time we make a move.  If I had a chance I would have purred to her, “I still love you.”

     I hear you have a new family now so probably do not worry as much about us, but just incase you were wondering what happened since that stormy day in July - that’s the whole scoop.


Your loving son,


Stormy speaking in behalf of Twister as well.