... and her pal Henry

This is Henry. He’s not as precocious as Eliza; he gets scared easily and doesn’t like the doorbell, strangers, or clapping hands. He was our first cat – we adopted him on the 4th of July. We called him Henry after “Tigger,” “Garfield,” and “Tiger” failed. He hid underneath our bed for the first week, and hisses at strange women. So funny.

When we were Christmas shopping for Henry at Petsmart, we walked over to where they have cats up for adoption on display. There was a clipboard hanging on the wall with the names of cats listed – and next to them their status “adopted.” I recognized some of the names on the clipboard; we had been in Petsmart nearly every other week and always looked at the cats. I looked at Ray, and off we were to the SPCA again. We brought home Eliza. Merry Christmas, Henry.

The two hated each other at first. Eliza had to stay with the vet for the next two days to be spayed, but Henry was so mad at us. I remember, crying on the phone with Ray, saying “Henry hates us and he’ll never forgive us.” Luckily, after about a week or two of hissing and spitting and yowling, we had peace at our home. And the cats started getting along too (Ba-dum-dum).

Now Henry occasionally attacks Eliza for sport, and they sleep side-by-side in little cat beds. He’s only 9 pounds, the skinny little beast, and has sharp little teeth.