As once before, let me take you back to a day in June 1994 when my ex and I were at a local pet store shopping for goods for my Guinea Pig and Budgie.

We had been looking for a cat, not too seriously, when Cleo entered our lives.

Going in on that August day (an expression, it was June!), we never thought we would leave with a living girl that would change our lives.

The pet store had a number of kittens that they adopted from a kill shelter just minutes up the road. They took the kittens, as they knew they had the most "adoptability". That was the way then.

Cleo and her brother were just 5 weeks old, learning to live without their mother, we being told by the store owner that Cleo was always the "Take charge" kitten, leading brother to the back of the store (some 70 feet) to the litterbox. She was in an enclosure about 5 by 5, with every new cat toy installed, doubtless to make them happy, but also to showcase new cat toys and things to prompt buyers.

Upon looking in on the little balls of fluffs, none more than 10 weeks old (my knowledge tells me now), was my first ever cat, Cleo, who bravely walked over to my girlfriend and me, and 'presented' herself. The other cats cowered in fear, and Cleo was afraid too, yet to us she came. Possibly the only time in her life she has ever felt fear.

"Hello there?" said my girlfriend, and picked a maybe 4 ounce kitten up; she never flinched. Given to me, the tiny warm body fit in the palm of my hand, as the shop owner explained she had had shots, (yes, wrong at five weeks) papers to prove, and was free to a good home. She could tell we were a "good home".

Then this ugly witch-like lady came along and demanded to hold Cleo; she said she was a beautiful kitten and wanted her too.

While talking to me alone, I let it slip to the store owner that I'd never had a cat before (my girlfriend had, but I guess looking back, I never mentioned it). Bad move. We all know how we look on non-cat owners these days. My long hair, and non-conformist look did not help, I'm sure.

But the witch-lady mentioned she already had 13 cats, and Cleo kept *meuuuwing* for me, and that was the end of the game; the tiny fluffball was ours to have and to hold.

After the witch-lady left, the atmosphere changed quickly, Vicky, the store owner helped us select all we would need for Cleo, I kept saying "The best the best! price is no object, Vicky!" (guess you know I was already hooked, huh?).

Sometimes, as a child, or when you get into a dangerous situation (like a car crash, or marriage) there are some things you never forget. Mine is sitting in the passenger seat of my Firebird, girlfriend driving me home from the petstore, because Cleo chose ME to ride with. Never afraid, Cleo's hallmark in life, just a handful of fur sitting in my arms, head down, eyes never shut, just waiting to see what life would bring her.

It's brought both of us a lot... and it will bring us much more.

Copyright © Bill Mason
March 20, 2002