Back in August, my wife’s kitty disappeared. We were never able to find him and my wife missed him terribly. She still does.
In November, a short time before her birthday, I was looking at a local Facebook community page and saw a post by a woman who was wanting to get rid of some kittens. The one in the picture she posted looked identical to my wife’s missing cat, except that it was far smaller. The color was right and it was a long-haired cat, like my wife’s.
I contacted the woman and made arrangements to take the kitten. I gave the kitten to my wife as an early birthday present and she named the new kitty Cherokee. The reason for the name is that my wife wanted a Native American name. I’m the Cherokee in the home and she didn’t want to bother me, so she just named the little girl kitty Cherokee. As she put it, “It is an Indian name.”
The kitten was tiny. It was so small that it could squeeze out through the two-inch gap at the bottom of our bedroom door. It also wasn’t well and for a couple of weeks, we thought that she wasn’t going to make it. I prayed a great deal and had faith. The kitten suddenly recovered and I praise God for that. I’ve been rehabilitating animals for about 50 years, but I’m not a vet. I’m sure not the one who saved the kitten in this instance.
Somewhere along the line, Cherokee adopted me as her person and my wife is happy with that arrangement. If I call her name, she’ll come running. The running part is nothing out of the ordinary since she likes to run and seldom walks anywhere.
So here she is; Cherokee.