The hallway leading to the volunteer locker room is colorfully decorated with children’s art – posters, mostly about dogs, hand lettered and exuberantly colored in. It’s nice to see actual kid’s crafts, not digitized or Power Point stuff.
Upstairs, I’m immediately drawn to new kitty Cybil, a pretty 2 year old calico princess. She reminds me a bit of my departed girl Muppy, both in coloring and her need to be an only cat. She’s friendlier – most cats are! – but also offers a tiny warning nip when my attention wanders. It feels very comfortable and familiar sitting with her. She’s even a bit of a goof, like my girl was, dashing after toys and gawking at the birds on TV.
Across the hall, Bear Bear squeaks for attention. She’s a darling little 3 year old, mostly black with a tiny sprinkling of white across her shoulders. She likes to investigate the situation, and spends awhile sniffing around, even standing on her perch by my head for better access. Finally I pass inspection, and she curls up on my lap as I stroke her, comfortable to the point of rolling to her back and curling her little paws up. This elicits a chorus of oohs from people in the hall. And I appreciate a kitty who needs to be won over.
I’m glad to see Cybil at her door, also catching people’s attention. I chat with a woman and two kids, an aunt and nieces, who’ve been carefully studying each cat. They all love animals, but one of the parents has allergies. The younger girl squats, delighted with her interactions with outgoing Virginia.
The little girl tells me she likes to draw, especially pictures of little cats, and she intends to make a picture of Virginia later. The woman prompts the kids to tell me about the realistic looking stuffed animals they have at home, and we joke about not having to feed or clean up after them. But the older girl tells me, voice serious, that it’s not the same. Can’t argue with that, there’s nothing like real animals as pets.
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