Toby-cat was a gift from my garden. A stray that I’d seen but couldn’t catch. I told a friend that I’d seen a wee kitten haunting my plot, and within a few days this friend brought a clawful unhappy bundle to my front porch:
I remember Toby well — from the moment when she was still just a rumor (“Hey, I think I saw a little kitten wandering around in the gardens! Have you seen it?”) to the first time when I actually met that little rumor face to face (I was down on all fours weeding Y’s garden, so it literally was face to face) and how, — after several false starts — I finally scooped her up in my clothes and brought her, mewing and scratching, to your door.
She was a scrawny little thing, but I just knew, from the loving and concerned way that you’d first told me about her, that you cared so much about her and that your home would be an welcoming place for her.
“Quirky but lovable” — that’s how I’d describe her. It’s not a bad description for us either. :)
We later learned that Toby’s history included an unhappy adoption from the shelter to a family with small children. She was wary and troubled. She quickly learned to love but one soul in this world, and that was our Catgirl.
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