Stray

When my partner Annie moved in to her new apartment in September, she didn't know that the place came with a cat. We soon discovered an emaciated, little brown silhouette that would stare in the windows and then dash away. I didn't pay much attention, but Annie started letting it in through the bathroom window. Little muddy paw prints lined the bathroom sink, toilet, floor and shelves. If wanted by the FBI, we certainly had the proof. I call the thing "it", not to be disrespectful, I love cats, I didn't know what "it" was. Other times I called it "brown, brown", "brownie" or "little shit stalker" There was a day not too long ago when hail balls were being thrown at us and the wind was whipping and Annie couldn't leave it. She brought the little thing in from under the house. It was puffed-out, tiny, hopeful and starving, like a meth addict ready to go to treatment. Annie's mother came to town and told us we needed to accept the cat as our very own and after much discussion, we did. We looked her over and it seems like she has a vagina, but one can't be certain these days, after all, we live in Seattle. We are taking her to the vet to get her all checked out. The two other cats that live here are not fond of "Brownie" and they will just have to work that out. Cats howling, and hissing puts me on edge and I want to mediate and say, "Why can't we all just get along"?