Four years ago, a friend of mine begged me to take in a skinny, knotted ball of fur someone had named Tawney. She had had five homes in two short years, had been tortured by other animals, and had been left alone in a house for weeks at a time. She was terribly neurotic. I agreed to take her in and brought her home.
Once she was in my house, I did not see her for two weeks. She didn’t eat because the cat food I left for her went untouched. Finally one night, I heard a rustling out of a top shelf in my closet. She joined me in bed and started purring. Soon she greeted me every time I entered my bedroom, and she was so sweet I had to change her name to Honey Cat.
For the next year, the only way anyone could visit with her was if they sat on my bed and waited for her to join us. Everybody wanted to visit with her because she was so sweet and loving. A year later, she would come out of the bedroom and follow me around the house, but no one else ever saw her out. Soon she got to the point where she would come out of hiding to visit once she was sure the coast was clear. My grown boys nicknamed her the squirrel because she darts around the top of the furniture and the top shelves.
Now, four years later, she is a mostly normal cat. She doesn’t run away when new people walk in, and she spends her time in my lap or getting attention from visitors. People always comment on how very sweet she is, and she loves getting petted so much she pushes her head against your hand when you stop. I’m still the only one who is allowed to pick her up and carry her, but she is almost a normal cat now. She even joins me on the porch, which is out in the scary world. I can’t imagine my life without her.
Story submitted by Tina from Farmington, New Mexico.
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