And then there were four...again.

When David and I first moved in together, we had a Brady Bunch situation with cats. He had Neige and Friedrich; I had Jazzy and Skoenkie. Four cats in a condo turned out to be too much for them and for us. It got to the point that Jazzy, the only girl cat, would not even come into our house for the intimidation that she faced from the boys. I can't remember a moment when they actually physically attacked her, but they sure loved to put her in a corner and stare at her. This unglued her to the point that she prefered to spend time at our neighbors than to be at our house.

It was a tough decision, but we realized that we had to either find her a new home or to find a new home for the three boys. The decision was clear. We put up signs around town and after flyering at 5 or 6 Starbucks, we talked to a barista who happened to be looking for a cat herself. Within a week she met Jazzy and took her home. I still wonder how Jazzy is doing. She was my first cat. I even brought pictures of her to the hospital to help me cope with labor when I had Breyten. But I think I did right by her.

Since then we have been considering divesting down to two cats, but we've never been able to bring ourselves to do it. And in the meantime, life has happened as it always seems to happen and we, well... (It's taken me a while to admit this) We have four cats again.

It was innocent! Really it was. This absolutely beautiful black and white stray came to our door and asked if Neige could play. For quite a while, we referred to this cat as "Neige's girlfriend" because of it's dainty trotting, and petite paws, and the way the two of them seemed to slink to the side of the house as if to have some clandestine tryst. We then started to notice how this cat tended to slink around the sides of other houses with other neighborhood cats and "Neige's girlfriend" was dubbed "Paris" after the famously loose socialite. It wasn't until Paris warmed up to us that we could get close enough to see that this femme fatale was really a dandy male. With an all black head, solid white whiskers, all black legs, and two twinkling white toes on each front paw, he's a striking cat and hard to resist.

Yes, hard to resist. I couldn't help but put out a bowl of food for him. Each night. And morning. And then how could we let him prowl the neighborhood impregnating other cats to make more irresistable strays? We HAD to take him to vet and get him fixed. And give him shots. And de-fleaified. And then it got cold. Really cold. So we had to let him in. Just until we could find him a proper home. We DID put up flyers at the office and at the vet. Could we help it that no one called? (Do you want a cat? We've got a really nice one! He's got all his shots and he's fixed)

And then I did myself in. One night while I was reading to Breyten at bedtime and Paris jumped up on the bed. He crawled right onto Breyten's chest and started to knead. Breyten was absolutely tickled by the unsolicited cat attention and asked me what Paris was trying to tell him. In that moment rather than explain that Paris was reverting to the tendencies of a juvenile cat who is trying to express milk from its mother, I simplified my answer by saying "Paris is telling you that you are his family." It hit me like a ton of bricks. I had just gone from fostering a stray cat from the streets to adopting a cat into my home. Pretty much for good. "Mommy! We're his family! He's not a stray anymore!", cried Breyten. Yes, he realized it, too.

So here he is, our fancy black and white baby cat. As you can see, he's quite at home. He seems to be jockying with Skoenkie for second in command. We'll let you know who wins.