Salutations everyone. My name is Sabrina. I was born October 18, 2008, which means that at the time of this writing I am 140 months and 17 days of age. Or, for effortless reading, I am 11 years, 8 months, and 17 days old. I am a Dilute Tortie cat which is just an embellished term for a Tortoiseshell cat of lighter color. I have seen more in my lifetime than the rest of my

siblings, but for you, dear reader of this anecdote, I will take you back to where my story begins with my new ménage.

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I don’t recall much about my past homes, but I do remember that I was never allowed on the furniture. I would always be banished to the cage as punishment for breaking that rule so when my previous owner relinquished me to the shelter and they immediately put me in a cage, I knew I must have done something terrible. I begged and pleaded pitifully to the humans to let me out, but they only answered with sympathetic “aww” sounds and silly comments like, “you like to talk.” Clearly our intelligence quotient is not on the same level.
One day a man and woman came in to look for an older cat. Eureka! I thought, I have this on in the bag. As it so often happens, however, the man was drawn to the youngsters.

At the moment, he was looking at two little black fur balls who were born at the shelter. Of course they are cute, as most kittens are, but they are as smart as a bag of rocks.
The woman kept staring at me as if she were trying to decide my fate. Meanwhile, the man was intrigued with all the cats. I clearly saw that I was not going to make any progress with him so I turned my attention to the woman. “Pick me, and let me out of this cage!” I exclaimed plaintively.
Incredibly, a shelter worker opened the door to my cage just then. I could almost taste freedom, but I tried not to get my hopes up. I had seen potential parents change their minds before; I had to make sure these two weren’t just window shopping. I became distressed when they put me in an even smaller cage. This must be solitary confinement, I realized. Oh, no, I cannot do this, I thought. “I’m sorry! Please forgive me!” I screamed aloud to anyone who would listen. But then the strangest thing happened: the cage began to move and it went outside. I could feel the fresh breeze running through my hair for a moment, and then I was in a car. “Where are you taking me?”, I cried out.
As if in answer to my plea, the door to my cage opened. That man who was distracted by the sight of everything lifted me out. The first thing I saw were the black kittens.

Did the man rescue all of us from the prison? I had so many questions, but they could wait. For the moment, I was just happy to be out of the cage. I looked around and enjoyed the ride with my new companions. After a little bit, we arrived at a place they called my new home. When we went inside, I saw that there were three more felines already there. I was grateful because it is never fun to go through initiation alone. Nevertheless, I am old enough to know that one cannot just walk into an established household and expect to be accepted right away; it takes time. I kept still and observed everything around me quietly. The new kittens did not to seem to understand this rule. They scampered all over the place, sniffing everything, and even eating out of the bowls of food without invitation. That breach of etiquette did not settle well with the other cats. I watched the one they call Joey march over and give the kittens a firm smack! Joey must be the enforcer of the group; she scares me even to this day.
I waited patiently and soon I was rewarded with a bowl of food. It tasted wonderful, but soon after eating, I felt nauseated. Did they do something to the food? I wondered at first. No that was not it; my stomach was just sensitive to that brand of food. I realized it was the same stuff they gave me at the shelter and it had always made me sick then, too. Luckily, my new parents are smart and kind. They changed my food and found a kind that doesn’t make me sick. Now I just have to remind myself not to overeat! I forget sometimes.
After my stomach issues resolved, something even worse happened: I got fleas! I thought the cage was torture but itching was so much worse. I was miserable, but my new parents worked hard to kill them all; they even gave me a flea collar. It was a nice thought, but to be honest, I knew I was never going to wear that constricting contraption. So I made it disappear. Then the humans tried giving me the liquid preventive medicine. Surprise! I am allergic to it, and it burned my hair off down to the skin.

But my parents did not give up. They found a pill I could swallow that worked perfectly except I detest swallowing pills. Dad makes me take them, and I am thankful for it later, but you wouldn’t know it at the time. As soon as the flea problem went away, do you know what my parents did? They brought home another cat. He was white and lazy; they called him Buddy.
I wasn’t sure whether to greet him or to simply ignore him. I knew I wouldn’t be unkind to him like Missy and Joey sometimes are to me. Maybe I would take Aria’s approach and just be indifferent to him. Ultimately, I decided to greet the new guy and to my surprise, he was nice to me. I was excited to have another friendly cat in the house. The kittens Abra and Cadabra liked me well enough so I never felt ostracized, but the more friends you have the better.
I spoke too soon. Dad wasn’t finished bringing home friends for me, and more is not necessarily better. The most recent one, Thomas, is pleasant to be around. He never bullies me, and he even cleans my fur for me. He seems perfectly happy to be submissive. But the one called Taco that Dad brought home? I don’t like him one bit. I can’t put my claw on the reason why; I think he just gives off a bad aura to me. I just try to mind my business and go my separate way from him.
As I mentioned before, I was taught at an early age never to sleep on the people’s furniture – or even to step on it, for that matter. Bad things were sure to happen if one broke that rule, but I noticed the rest of the heathens around here did it all the time – even Maggie the canine. My dad worked patiently with me, holding me and petting me on the couch, until I slowly learned that it was okay for me to sit there. My family really does treat me great. It has been almost four years, and I cannot see myself any happier than I am here.

Your next read is The Story Of Abra.