Seeing the cat heading for the highway, despite her allergies, she was about to go after it when she saw a man stop and pick the kitty up.

Although this report was a great relief to me, I was sad, knowing that I may never see Blondie again. I slept very little that night. Our dear little Blondie was gone. However, next morning I got a phone call. It was from the vet. "I think your cat may be here," she said.

I didn't wait for her to finish explaining. My husband and I jumped in the car and headed for the vet's.

"A man brought the cat in this morning," the vet went on to explain. "The cat was cold and wet when he picked her up. He took her home and dried and fed her."

In the hours that the man had Blondie, he had fallen in love with her. The morning after he had found her, out of concern for her sneezing and wheezing, he had taken her to the vet, leaving her there for treatment, saying that he would be back after work to pick her up and pay the bill. So concerned was he about her, that he phoned the vet during the day to check on her. That is when he found out that we, her rightful owners had come to claim her, and had paid the bill. The man was devastated.

We were so happy and relieved that Blondie was back with us again. But we felt sad for the "good Samaritan." We asked the vet for his name and phone number so that we could thank him. In the course of the conversation with him, we learned that his own cat had just died, and he had been so pleased to find this delightful little cat, thinking she was a stray. "I just fell in love with her," he said, nearly in tears.

My husband and I talked the matter over. We decided that since he had been so kind to rescue the cat, and so unselfish in making the decision to let her be returned to her us, that it was only right that we should offer to let him have Blondie, if he wanted her. I phoned him back. He was ecstatic. "After all," I went on to say, "we have six cats and although we love them all, we feel that after talking with you, you would give her tons of love. But, there is one condition."

I could feel the tension on the other end of the phone line. So I went on quickly. "If you take Blondie, we would also like you to take our Koko." We explained their relationship and their companionship, and the fact that if Blondie were not there to defend Koko, she would lead a miserable life, up against the "boys." By this time, our faithful dog, Duffy, was too ill to discipline the cats. So Koko would have no protection, with Blondie gone.

Within fifteen minutes the man arrived at the door with his cat carrier. In the meantime, we gathered up cat food, kitty litter, toys, and blankets to send along with Blondie and Koko. As much as we were sad to see these two kitties go, we were rewarded by the look of happiness on the face of this gentle man. We knew our cats were in good hands.

{An update on this: After Blondie and Koko had been in their new home for about six months, Blondie died of PKD (Polycystic Kidney Disease). The man was heartbroken; however, he still had Koko, for which he was glad. Koko is still with him, and doing well. Even though we live only a few miles away, for emotional reasons, we have chosen not to see her, but we keep updated on her via email.}

Now we were back to four cats. In the days that followed, I gave extra attention to Baby so that the loss of her cousin-companions would not be noticed. It wasn't. She hadn't realized that they were gone. Our household was peaceful again. We didn't have to be on the lookout for doors, or for cat-attacks.

Rule 6: "I play, just like a sighted cat, but I cannot run as fast. In fact, I do not run at all. If I try, I bump into walls and furniture. I like toys that make some sort of noise."

Toys were never a problem with Baby. She loved to play with rolled-up tinfoil balls, or tiny Christmas bells, or the stone of an avocado. Bells would scoot away from her, and she was always losing them under things, so I put dangling toys or bells above her box. And, too, Casper filled the gap by being Baby's playmate once again.

Not long after Blondie died, we had another death in our family. Duffy died of Cushing's disease. We were without a dog to watch over Baby. However, six weeks later, we heard of a dog that needed a home. But there was a catch. He had been an apartment dog, and did not like cats. Not the dog for us!

But-- just like with the cats we were determined not to take, Rocky joined our family. How would a cat-hater dog take to sharing the house with four cats, one of them blind? Well, we didn't have to wait long to find out. We took this seventeen-month, seventeen-pound Papillion dog in and introduced him to the cats. He jumped up onto the bed where Queenie and Ernie were sleeping. They hissed. He growled at them, wagged his tail and jumped down, running over to inspect the white beauty, Casper. Oh yes, he was okay. But what about that little ball of fluff sitting in the meat tray? What was it? It looked like a cat, but, but—she wasn't afraid of him. How come? He ran over and sniffed her. She purred and reached out her paw. They became instant friends, and Rocky became her champion, protecting her, even when she didn't need to be protected.

One thing that amazed us was how Baby would play with the sunbeams that streamed in the window on a sunny day. It was phenomenal. How could she “see” to play with sunbeams? Well, observing her, I came to the conclusion that she didn't see them. She sensed them. She would head into the sunbeams, as if they were tickling her unusually long whiskers. She loved it when the sun shone. She would get in the middle of those rays and roll over on her back, basking in them. They felt SOOOO good.

Another amazing thing about Baby was how she loved to try to catch a fly. When she would hear one buzz, and sometimes we didn't even hear it, she would stand up on her hind feet and bat the air. She loved to sit in front of the screen door in the summer, and listen for the flies and the bees to play with. It kept her entertained for ages.

Rule 7: "Give me everything I want, if you want to make me happy."

I think Baby enjoyed being blind. Of course, she had never been anything else. But my theory is, why wouldn't she enjoy being blind? I gave her everything she asked for. One of her favorite things was whipped topping (Dream Whip). She was always asking for that, and despite the fact that my cat friend told me that it wasn't good for her, I always has some of the fluffy stuff waiting for her in the fridge. Every time the refrigerator door would open, regardless of where Baby was, she would totter into the kitchen. When I went to set the table for a meal, Baby would hear the teaspoons rattling in the drawer and come toddling down the hall as fast as she could. Then she would dance a little jig in the middle of the kitchen until she heard the plop of her treat in her dish.

March 29th this year (2003), Baby would have been seven. However, on September 18th, 2002, she succumbed to PKD— (Polycystic Kidney Disease). I first noticed her symptoms when she stopped asking for her special treat, whipped topping. I prayed that she wouldn't suffer long, and my prayers were answered. Daily she became weaker, refusing any kind of nourishment, even from a syringe. Yet, even at her weakest, she had that contented purr whenever I held her.

Knowing that her end was near, since I was aware of her disease, I fixed up a small box with a hot water bottle in the bottom, and wrapped her up in the towel. I held her close to my face, listening to her soft purr. Then kissing her, I placed her in the box.

Thankfully I had to be away that day; otherwise I would have been watching her constantly. When I arrived home at four that afternoon, she was in exactly the same position as when I had left her. Our Baby had left us, out of pain and into peace. Needless to say, we missed her. The house seemed strangely vacant with her gone.

But that's not the end of the story. The house did seem strangely empty all right, and for a while I never wanted to see another Styrofoam meat tray, nor whipped topping. I took down all the dangling toys and put away all reminders of my little blind kitty. The day we buried Baby in the backyard, next to Duffy, I shed all the tears I would allow myself to shed over her. It was time to get on with my life. Both my husband and I determined that our family would remain at three cats and a dog.

But a month later we got a phone call from a neighbor. There was a stray kitten on his doorstep. Would I please come down and see if I knew to whom it might belong? It was pouring rain. I took one look at this starving, drenched—Siamese—kitten and I knew that our cat population would not remain at three. I picked him up. Immediately he put his paws around my neck, nibbling at my ear and kneading my hair, as if I were his mommy. And that is what I became, his mommy. "E~Z" (Ezee) is the newest member of our family. Now neutered, he has brought delight to our household with his antics and his endearing personality, or shall I call it, "catonality?" He frolics with all the cats, but his best friend is Rocky.

The other day the phone rang. It was my cat breeder friend. "I have another cat that needs a home. He is a beautiful..."

"No way!" I cut in. "Not this time!" This is definitely the end! … Or is it?