And when that pet finally leaves you, it leaves a void that can never be filled; but, you would not have missed the experience for anything!

I was in my mid twenties at the time, studying for a college exam when I heard something scratching at the door. It was a tiny red Persian kitten! I never knew where it came from; but, I named it Kitty under the mistaken idea that it must be female, anything that pretty had to be a girl; and, my mother said it probably wouldn't answer to anything but "Kitty" anyway!

It turned out to be a tomcat. He had long, soft red hair and the typical "flat" face of a Persian. I used to say that he had a "mashed-up" nose; and, every time I would say that he would reach up and hit my nose! He was beautiful and sweet and I loved him; but, one thing I didn't do was keep him indoors. It wasn't all that long ago; but still, at that time, I had the country ethic that you didn't pen up something you really love. This is something I still agree with in principle; but, I have come to understand that reality dictates something else; so, the cat I have now is an indoor cat.

Kitty was not an indoor cat. I worried a lot about the dangers of the outside, especially the road; but, I couldn't bring myself to lock him up.

When Kitty was about a year or so old, an already pregnant black and white female started hanging around. She looked somewhat Siamese with slanted eyes and a long slender body. She was very wild and wouldn't let any of us touch her. She had strange eating habits including a special liking for biscuits! So we called her Biscuit; and, let her eat our table scraps which was about all she would eat.

Then one day, she wasn't pregnant anymore. After searching some, I found the kittens under the old birdhouse which my mother had once used to raise parakeets; but, I couldn't get to them and I was afraid that she might reject them if I did get my odor on them anyway. So the kittens were left under the birdhouse.

One night, not long after, it rained long and hard. I did think about the kittens; and even went out to the birdhouse to see if I could get them out this time; but, there wasn't anything I could do. A little later, I heard her at the back door; and, there she was with two kittens; fine little gray colored kittens. I was touched that she had tried to bring them to me to safety; but, it was too late. They were dead.

Biscuit continued to hang around; still wild; but, maybe not quite as much.

On a warm night the December following, I looked towards the road and there lay Kitty. He was still warm; a soft, limp, lifeless bundle. I buried him within the hour. There wasn't anything else I could do except cry for a couple of days;
and that I did.

Biscuit was "expecting" again. Were they Kitty's? I never gave them a DNA test; but, the timing was right and I never saw her with another cat.

This time Biscuit had her kittens under our kerosene tank; but, soon moved them to inside the birdhouse.

There were five kittens. The three little black and white males I named Cookie, Muffin, Pancake. The two little calico females I named Ballard and Pillsbury. They were all beautiful kittens and I had no trouble giving them away except that Cookie caught an eye infection and lost one eye; so, I kept him.

And then there was Pillsbury!

After losing Kitty, I wasn't in the mood for another pet. I intended to give all of the kittens away except that there was Cookie's condition; and, somewhere along the line, we had picked up another stray, a yellow tom named Pumpkin. Pumpkin was really more my mother's cat; but, I took care of him because, at the time, she was undergoing the first of the many arthritis attacks which were to make the last twenty years of her life something that I don't think anyone can understand unless they have been through it.

And then there was Pillsbury!

When I first saw the kittens, under the kerosene tank, Pillsbury was the first one I picked up. I took her in to my mother, who was bedridden at the time. My mother reached out, touched the red spot on the top of Pillsbury's head; and said "Pretty kitten."

Pillsbury was a very soft and plush, beautifully marked little calico with a patch of red right on the top of her head! She had four white feet and a long tail with a white tip. She seldom made a sound; but, when she did it was soft and silvery. She didn't have the habit, that a lot of cats have, of getting under your feet; and, she had a cute little way of doing her paws. She would lie on her back and use them to cover her face. She would reach up and softly tap my face with them. At first, it reminded me of Kitty; but, after a while, it was simply Pillsbury!

Most of all, it was those eyes that really got to me. They were green and slightly crossed and slightly slanted; but, Pillsbury had a way of looking at you, that when Pillsbury looked at you, you had been looked at!

I called her Pillsbury. I called her PillKitty; and
no way was I going to give her away!