by Angel Edwards

Created on: January 27, 2009

I was 13 years old when I first became catless. My family had owned cats all my life. When I was first born we had two, Benny and Clyde. They were brothers and found at the house when my parents moved there. However whilst I was still but a tot, my older sister scared Clyde away. Then we inherited a seenile incontinent old cat off my Gran, she was somewhat scary. Thomasina she was called, or Tom, because my Gran had originally thought her to be a male. But at 13 suddenly, I had no cat. We had a dog, but thats never quite the same, you don't have to try so hard with dogs, they'll love everyone.

For months me and my sisters were pestering my Dad for a new cat. It just wasn't right without one. Then one day, about a year later (my Dad tends to take his time at things), my Father walked into the kitchen and said I've found a cat at a centre in Codsall, shall we go see her tomorrow?' It was so exciting, we'd never actually had to look for a cat before.

Anyway, one sunny Saturday morning we rolled up on the drive of the adoption centre. All of us were quite confused at first as it was simply the owners back garden, but Sarah was lovely. She told us that this cat had just come in. The door was open, and the beautiful feline kitten pounced, onto a ball hanging from a rope in her room. She was stunning. The most gorgeous markings of tortuous-shell ever seen, with a cheeky glint of mischief in her eyes. She was about 4 months old we were told, and had only just been saved from her owner who had allegedly kicked her mother to death.

Returning home we couldn't stop talking about her. She'd already been named Lara, so it was 'Lara this' and 'Lara that' all the way home.

The day finally came when she was to arrive. Preparations had been made for her just days before. We'd brought her the perfect bowls and the perfect bed, and even made her a scratch pole. But when she arrived she was the most timid little thing. My two sisters went galumphing after her, trying to pick her up and cuddle her. They just didn't realise how scared she was. 'Mum, she's hidden under my bed' shouted my older sister. I left it until everyone else had stopped leering at her before i went over, and in the softest voice i could I said 'don't worry Lara, I'll get you some food', as I passed her the bowl. Then I left.

After a few days she began to relax a little managing to stretch right across the sofa, like she owned it. 'Who does she think she is? The Queen of Sheeba?' my Mother said 'We should change her name to Queenie'. And so we did. She began to come and sleep on my bed with me every night, stretching right across it so that I only had the edge. She still does now when I go home. But I'm at University now, and I actually miss Queenie at night. I still lie right on the edge of my bed just in-case I crush her. But I know, that when ever I return home, my adopted cat will always be there for me.

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