Over the years, the cats have wandered into my life in various, interesting ways. But Thalia certainly qualifies as a strange acquisition by any standards.

It was the late evening of January 28th, 2004, getting close to bedtime.  I often leave the main garage door open a few inches when I'm home, because Phunny has always preferred to go outside by walking from the house into the garage and out through the main door.  A harmless, if silly, characteristic.  All the cats were inside, yet my wife heard a scratching at the door to the garage.  She opened the door, and there staring at her was a dark calico cat!  She called to me that we had a calico cat.  Well, what else is new; I've had Calico for years.  No, another calico cat!  She picked up the cat and carried it into the room where I was sitting.

The kitty looked to be in good condition, and was wearing what looked like an adhesive-tape collar on which there was a hand-lettered letter followed by six digits.  My immediate thought was that this must have been a brand new acquisition from a shelter or a place like PetSmart which adopts cats, and that it probably had gotten lost from a new, unfamiliar home.  I walked around the neighborhood, and didn't hear anyone calling for a cat.  Obviously there wasn't much I could do at that point, and as the kitty seemed gentle and calm, there didn't seem to be any harm in letting her stay the night.  I hoped that there would be a "lost cat" sign posted in the neighborhood, or that I'd hear someone calling for a pet.

The cat was sneezing a little, and perhaps I was taking a big risk letting her mingle with the others.  But she seemed happy to be around.  Here's a picture of her with her strange collar: 

I guess it didn't really occur to me that I wouldn't find her owner, but the next day didn't turn up any indication of a lost cat.  I wasn't really sure what to do, as it was a work day, but I certainly intended to check out the neighborhood within a reasonable distance, realizing she could have wandered several blocks, in hopes of seeing a "Lost Cat" sign.  I decided to take her to the nearest vet, not my own, to see if they would be willing to scan for a microchip.  They were happy to do so, without charge, and the scan came up negative.  However, they told me that the collar was most likely not indicative of a shelter or adopted cat; it was commonly used by veterinarians and that the letter and digits were probably a case number in the style used by some particular veterinary office.  They showed me a big roll of the stuff, and sure enough it appeared to be the same, or equivalent product.

We called several of the larger veterinary facilities, explaining the issue, and struck out.  Realistically, I couldn't possibly call all the offices within, say, ten miles.  I looked in the local papers for several days without any relevant "lost" ads.  When Saturday rolled around, I pedaled around the neighborhood, traversing every street within a half mile of my home, looking for "lost cat" signs.  It became pretty obvious that I had two choices: take her to a shelter or otherwise try and find a home, or keep her.  As I had just lost Lester the previous month, and Banana Simian three months before that, I was down to four cats.  We kept her.

I suspected the medical case number was due to her fairly frequent sneezing, and it wasn't clearing up in those first few days.  So I decided she would become a patient of the nearby vet who had kindly scanned her.  When we first moved here in 1987, that office became my veterinarian due to being only a half mile away from the house.  But they could never cure frequent "hot spots" (severe flea reactions) on Neptune, my pit bull, and I had eventually taken everyone over to another nearby vet (who seemed to instantly cure the problem!).  That vet had merged into a large facility three miles away across several wretchedly congested intersections sometime in the early 90's.  I've kept with them to this day, despite the nuisance of getting to and from that location.  I decided to give the nearby vet another chance; probably the personnel with whom I'd previously dealt were long gone, anyway.

They ran a complete set of tests, prescribed some medicine for the cat which cured up the respiratory problems quite promptly, and she's been quite healthy ever since.  Tests came back normal.  I figured she was 9 months or a year old, and I was absolutely floored when they told me she was eight to ten years old!  Apparently the big spot on one eye was very typical of older cats, and not seen on younger ones.  Here's a picture where you can see that spot at the bottom outside edge of her right eye: After several days of intense thought, we decided that "Thalia" was a pretty name for an attractive cat, and that was it.

So as I write these words, we've had her about 10 months, and I've delayed this long because it's hard to say much about her! She isn't particularly friendly - she is absolutely not a lap cat and has only crawled into my lap one time, six months after we acquired her. She really dislikes being picked up - not as violently as Calico, who is impossible to hold, but she complains loudly if picked up. She follows my wife around like a dog, from room to room - most odd for a cat - but normally just likes to sit nearby.

Interestingly it was five full weeks before she would go outside, despite being offered the frequent opportunity after the two week "holding" period I always force on my new arrivals.  Here's a picture of her at about three weeks, standing at the front door but refusing to leave.  The carrier is behind her due to there having just been some vet appointment for one of the other cats: But once she decided it was OK to go out, she now loves being in the yard. She goes out frequently, always stays in the yard, and normally comes in when my wife calls - but she'll often run from me to avoid coming inside.  And unlike the others, she actually enjoys sleeping in a little cat bed I purchased, and which was totally snubbed by almost everyone - although Moe Lester would sporadically spend some time in it.

There's one thing she absolutely loves: being brushed or beard-nuzzled. The sight of a brush sends her galloping up full speed!  She's not particularly fond of being stroked, except by my beard or, of course, with any sort of brush.  Fifteen minutes of brushing is nothing to Thalia.  It's nice that there's something that she enjoys.  She's not extremely picky about food, and has a healthy appetite.

One endearing trait: she's the only cat who not only isn't afraid or intimidated by Watermelon's agressive, bullying attitude, but she actually can chase and intimidate the much bigger Watermelon. She won't be pushed around by him, and he now treats her with great respect. Bravo, Thalia.

I've only had one unexpected adventure with her.  One night, I couldn't find her.  She definitely wasn't in the yard - I searched thoroughly with a flashlight.  And I couldn't find her inside after an exhaustive search.  I had to conclude that Thalia, who never showed any signs of leaving the property, had somehow gotten away.  I stayed up the entire night, calling her every few minutes from all doors, and frantically searching the house in the meantime.  I was absolutely distraught.  At 4 AM, I called and heard a faint meow!  It was from an adjacent house, and she had somehow gotten over the six foot stucco wall that surrounds my property, or perhaps had wandered off from the front, which is directly on the cul de sac, and ended up in the next set of houses.  I threw on some clothes and went running down to that house in the next cul de sac.  And that house had a big metal locked gate in the front - I couldn't get to where she was apparently sitting.  I called her, and she came running under that gate and up to me!   This is perhaps the only time, aside from her first evening with us, where she didn't mind being held.  It was 4:09 in the morning, and I hadn't gotten any sleep, but I had Thalia back.  And as luck would have it, as I started carrying her back home, a car came up that cul de sac, radio blaring, lights full on.  I figured that would spook her and she'd break loose and disappear again.  Happily she didn't fight too hard, and it turned out to be the morning paper being delivered.  The guy asked me if I wanted a paper, free - he didn't seem to think my being out at that hour holding a cat was particularly odd - and I explained I was a subscriber in the next cul de sac.  He told me he had no subscribers in that cul de sac.  I really wasn't interested in a conversation; I wanted to get Thalia home.  It turned out he was delivery for the Orange County Register, a reactionary rag that I don't allow in the house; I'm a Los Angeles Times man.  But I took the paper, thanked him, and rushed Thalia back home and finally got to bed after calming down for another 45 minutes.

So Thalia has become part of the household. She's not particularly sociable, although she likes to be around. She is gentle, with a good heart and pleasant demeanor. She's certainly not a problem in any way. I wish she'd be a lap cat - Thalia's the first cat I've had who doesn't enjoy laps. But that's just the way she is, so I guess we'll live.