Socks

In early August of 2009, I came home after a long day of working in my classroom getting ready for the start of school.  As I went out into the garden I heard a sharp "meow, meow" and discovered a teeny, tiny black cat with white paws near my zucchini plants.  She was skin and bones and her eyes were matted shut.  As I picked her up she purred and trustingly put her face in the crook of my elbow.  I carefully placed her on the back patio and went inside to find her some milk.  When I return she was squeaking a pathetic "meow, meow."

Soon my husband was home and I asked, "Did you notice the little cat on the patio?"

"I was hoping it had run off without you seeing it,"  he sighed.

The next day I called our vet to find out how much it would cost to bring in the cat and have it checked over.  Hearing the price, my husband grudgingly agreed that I could take it in so that we could be sure not to pass anything on to Chester, our housecat.  While at the vet, Socks received a clean bill of health, medicine for her eyes, and was weighed.  "Just one pound!" was the vet's verdict.  When I reported back to my husband, he agreed we could keep her OUTSIDE.

Each day when I arrived home from school I checked on Socks.  She eagerly came to be petted.  Her eyes cleared up and she won her way into my heart.  My husband continued to remind me that she was our "outside" cat.

My family came over  for a cookout on a very hot Labor Day weekend.  My sister quickly fell in love with Socks.  Ignoring my husband's muttering she bought Socks inside.  Socks spent the afternoon on one lap or another and became an inside cat.

Today Socks is my housecat.  She is one of the many joys of my life.  She wakes me up each day, nudging my face and wanting to be fed.  She sits in my lap in the evenings as I read or watch TV.  She shows up at my elbow, butting her head against my arm, anytime I am sitting down.  She is the purr-fect pet for me.