July Cat of the Month—Sage
Sage is another cat from Spencer, Indiana. She was one of three feral kittens we tried to capture and tame, having success with two. Sage looks like a miniature Maine Coon cat—long hair, tabby markings, fuzzy feet. She’s a shy kitty, friendly with us but quick to remind us of her wild side with a fast paw packed with claws.
When we still lived in Spencer, before we had much success taming her and getting her inside, Sage disappeared the day of her appointment to be spayed. She returned sometime later, ill and obviously pregnant. She had her kittens on the front porch and was so weak that she made no protest when we moved her and her little family of three into our bathroom. We helped her care for her kids, and she grew to trust us. We did get her to the vet’s to be spayed and get her shots—while there she escaped into the waiting room, pulled down the curtains, knocked over potted plants—basically trashed the place. She bit through their leather X-ray gloves when they captured her. They politely let us know she wouldn’t be welcome back!
Sage’s kittens all stayed with us—Sparky, Smokey, and Pumpkin. Her brother, Sydney, was with us for too short a while, he died of feline AIDS. Sage is a reserved cat, deigning to be petted on her terms. She has a funny manner of sometimes stretching her hind leg out behind her, like a ballerina. In the evenings she’ll often join us on the couch, giving us a brief, regal visit.
July 30th, 2008
Chessie at last gets her turn to be Cat of the Month. Here is her story… Several years ago while living in Spencer, Indiana, my husband and I took a walk down near the railroad tracks not far from our home. I seem to remember there was a small craft fair or something going on at the time. On the way back home, we discovered a skinny grey kitten entertaining a handful of people on the corner. She rolled around inviting belly rubs, just too charming to resist.
An informed young girl let us know the kitten was a stray and shared her fear that the kitten may wander off and fall into the nearby river. Hindsight tells me that of course the kitten would not have carelessly fallen into the river to be swept away. But we were easily swayed and scooped up the ball of grey fluff and took her home.
Later watching her sleep, we agreed she looked just like the railroad cat Chessie and that’s how she acquired her name. It didn’t take long for Chessie to fit into our household of kitties. As a youngster she developed a curious manner of flinging an arm over the shoulders of any nearby cat and vigorously licking the top of the other cat’s head. In her slightly crankier old age she’s more likely to swat than lick any nearby cat!
After the death of my beloved lap cat, Abby, I wondered which of our cats would step up to take over the evening lap-time ritual. That cat was Chessie—every evening after dinner she arranges her not so tiny self (the kittenish figure is long gone) on my lap for a few hours, stretching out her paw to touch my arm every now and then to remind me that hands are for chin rubbing, okay?
The May Cat of the Month is….a dog! Unable to control his boundless energy and enthusiasm, Rudi insisted on being featured. The cats, particularly Chessie who was next in line, are understandably disgusted.
The cats have not been pleased with this new member of our family, but Rudi is gradually fitting in. He’s discovered the joys of long walks (his nose never stops exploring) and splashing in the pond on a warm day. And we’ve discovered the fun of playing fetch and trying to avoid those wet doggy kisses.
April brings us spring, which I always see as a time of new possibilities, of new beginnings. So it’s fitting that Rosie is the Cat of the Month for April, as she has been given the chance of a new beginning.
OK, this is a little late, but the cat of the month is … drum roll please—Muffy! As I write this, she is happily squirming around on my lap, purring out her contentment. Muffy is around 17 years old and may or may not be 
Muffy is a beautiful, cranky, sweet, very needy kitty. She makes her presence known with first gentle then ever more insistent taps of her paw on my pant leg. Anytime I sit down (and I mean anytime, anywhere) it is clearly an invitation for her to sit on my lap. When I am painting, she’ll often sit on the table that holds my palette and paints, inching closer and closer to me til I’m close enough to be poked by her paw—claws gently extended. I’ll put her down on the floor, she hops back up, over and over.
Muffy and 
