About a month before my partner and I decided to get married, we rollerbladed across town to the no-kill cat shelter in a neighboring city. Dillon knew that I was missing my cat who had died a few years earlier, and wanted to get me a new buddy.
I was a little concerned when we got there, because there actually weren't many cats to choose from. I live in Minnesota, so the shelter was dominated by stout, fluffy, Nordic cats, evolved to handle the harsh winters here. I'm pretty small, and I prefer smaller cats that I can comfortably carry in an emergency, so I was starting to feel thwarted.
And then I went into the playroom, and they shook out the cat food. Most of the cats darted toward the food bowl. Except for one, tiny black cat, that took the opportunity to dart into a hidey hole and lay down for a nap. It made sense; she was so much smaller than the other cats, that trying to muscle in on the snacks would be a stressful waste of energy.
I picked her up and she didn't complain at all. I knew that I had to have her. So we put her in a cardboard box and took the bus home. Amazingly, she didn't make a single peep the whole way. We've had her for nearly 3 years now, and she is still adorable, cuddly, and basically the best cat ever.
