Taking refuge from the August humidity while glued to a encore presentation of Lost. Commercial. Head to the kitchen for a glass of icy water. Something catches my eye.  Oh my God, Justin, the garbage bag, it’s moving!

My 11-year-old son, Justin, and I approach carefully. A lovely petite tabby leaps out of the bag, startled. For a moment, she stares at us with gorgeous greenish amber eyes. That’s when we name her Bijou. Sneaky little madam must have crept in when I left the sliding door open to get a breeze going.

Bijou, how did you get on this side of the patio doors?

Bijou, how did you get on this side of the patio doors?

In the weeks before, we began leaving food out for the neighbourhood strays. We were attracting quite the crowd. What a Lady Gaga concert is to teens, our yard was to cats. To the dismay of many a neighbour of course, but that’s a different story.

Back to Bijou. She has become the love of our lives ever since that August day over three years ago. Much has changed. Today, instead of scraps from used cans of tuna, she eats Eukaneuba. Instead of sleeping on rough grass with nature’s pests, she lounges on Simmons Beautyrest. Yet, she’s still a bit of a wild thing…

Hangout for cats at my house

Hangout at Cindy's house (Bijou next to the black cat)

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