In March of '97, a tiny young calico, perhaps 3 months old, appeared in my yard. At first, just seeing me inside through the glass patio doors would send her in terror over the wall and away at high speed. She was eating the cats' dry food - they're allowed outside during the day - and some of the food I leave for the local possums at night. It was fairly obvious that she was wild and had no home, so I had no objection to her being around.

By July, I could get perhaps 15 feet from her, outside, as long as I didn't move too fast. The vet told me that a wild calico cat is essentially untamable; this is apparently The hardest breed to tame.

In August, I was working in the garage with some loud power tools, and was astonished to see her walk behind me, despite the horrible noise, perhaps 2 feet away. I looked over and there were three tiny kittens on the concrete floor against the wall. Houston, we have a problem! I put down cardboard and an old blanket, and made sure that the garage was kept open and that there was plenty of food. Still, she wouldn't get too close to me.

The kittens were handled after two or three weeks, when they were big enough. At about 7 weeks, they were brought inside at night. Even this wasn't enough to get the calico inside, despite leaving the doors open for hours; she'd just stare inside through a sliding glass door, keeping an eye on the kittens.

At about 10 weeks, I felt they could survive on their own, and it became time to do something proactive. I borrowed a trap from a co-worker who runs a cattery on the side, and baited it with people sardines, which I knew Calico liked. I hoped that in a few hours, by some miracle, she might get trapped. 30 seconds later, she walked into the trap! But she avoided the trapdoor mechanism, so I ran for it as she saw me and tried to reverse as fast as possible. I won! Ten minutes later, after a traumatic automobile trip, she was at the vets for neutering, checkup (no problems) and shots.

After an apparently uneventful overnight stay at the veterinary hospital, she was brought home and deposited inside with the kittens. Still she wouldn't get near me, but took instantly to the litter boxes, enjoyed the kittens, and life went on. Eventually I took the risk of letting her outside, and could usually persuade her to come in at night as I strongly prefer. From November 1997 on, she would go in and out at will and return every single night, although it would take me as long as five frustrating hours to coax her inside from the winter chill.

At 12 weeks, the kittens found homes - two here in California, and one by bizarre circumstances in Florida. I never found out about the Florida kitty, and hope that the owner's cross-country drive went OK. I heard that one was doing fine, and another owner actually sent me a picture one time a few months later. Calico was distraught for two days, frantically searching the house for the kittens, but gradually calmed down over a period of a few days. It was impossible not to feel bad for her.

By January, 1998, she would sit on the couch a couple feet from me, as I enjoyed my audio system. Finally, in March, 1998, I reached over and she actually let me touch her face, and from that time on I could give her affection on her terms. She turned out to be a loving, extraordinarily nice cat - to me, only.

Now it's several years later - what is the situation? I still can't pick her up - if she sees a hand going anywhere underneath her, she bolts. This means that I can't bring her in at night, until such time as she chooses to come in. This has not normally been a huge problem after about 1999. I can't comb her thoroughly - a little brushing and combing up top is all she'll take. I can touch her with both hands simultaneously for the last couple of years, as long as it's up top. Usually she'll accept some affection outside, although she's somewhat more skittish outside than inside. I can't apply Advantage (flea treatment) - a major problem - or do routine maintenance such as ear cleaning. Her claws are normally incredibly long and sharp, because I can't trim them. The only time she's had thorough, routine stuff like this is when I grab her and fling the flailing, hysterical mass of limbs into a carrier to take to the vet. That's normally for her annual shots, but once or twice a year I'm able to grab her and take her in conjunction with another cat's visit. She has an amazing instinct for those vet visits and intuitively knows to stay at some distance at just the wrong times for me, but every so often I get lucky. At the vet's office, she is so scared as to be totally docile and handleable. For 3 weeks thereafter, she can knead me without drawing blood! They've said I could take her in anytime and they would simply give me an office in which to work for five or ten minutes, but I haven't done this yet.

To this day, the only time my wife has touched her (with one inexplicable exception) is at the vet. I live in absolute fear that she'll get sick and need a series of scheduled vet visits - I'd probably have to put her down. She was found to have an infected tooth, necessitating extraction, in 2000. Thank goodness the antibiotic was liquid, which for two weeks I just put into people tuna - a food for which she'll do anything.

So why is this kitty, which probably not one person in ten thousand would tolerate, my favorite? Maybe the challenge. But she's a cat who sleeps for hours on my back, follows me from room to room meowing for affection, and who will sit on the back of the chair and nuzzle me when I'm typing on the computer. At night she'll stand on me and lick my face and loudly purr while nuzzling my mouth. She is the happiest cat I've ever had, loves having her head scratched for as long as I'm willing, and waits for me to get out of the shower in the morning to enjoy some affection after I dry off. She's just a fantastic house cat with the one huge disadvantage. And she has some very unusual trusting characteristics - if she's sleeping on my computer chair, and I go to sit down, she won't even bat an eyelash; she knows I'll sit on the very edge of the chair so as not to disturb her and hasn't the slightest concern about being sat upon.

If only I could pick her up. My wife would love to give her affection, but I don't think it will ever happen; after all, it took me a year of intense effort to win Calico over and my wife doesn't have that sort of patience.