Cats were my first true love of the animal world, when I was very young. It was years before we had our own, and that happened rather by accident. A starving orange tabby cat wandered into our yard, and our parents consented to us caring for it outside. Outside gradually became inside after Rusty had a fight with a wild cat and needed to be brought into the basement to heal up, and slowly worked his way upstairs as well, until eventually he'd gone from not being allowed in to not being allowed out.

I think my youthful attentions were too much for Rusty, who never really took to me, though he remained a cherished member of the family well into his old age. We all mourned when we lost him to cancer, but none of us could consider the house quite a home without a cat. Many months later, when a friend rescued two orange tabby kittens from the pound, we were very interested. We came to visit them and pick one, a cuddly little ball of fur that we eventually named Seeker. The other kitten had worked his charms on us as well, however, and it was only a day or two before we'd gone back and brought him home. Seeker and Oracle aren't related--Oracle is about four months older--but they've grown up together and get along well.