When I was growing up we always had dogs as pets. I thought of myself as a dog person. I didn’t particularly like cats and never even considered that I might provide a home for one.
Enter Jem. The cat that stole my heart.
She was my first cat. I can say this because although technically she came as one of a pair, we got her a few hours before her sister Scout, who went on an adventure the day we went to collect them.
I knew she’d be happy living with librarians when on the first day her chosen sleeping place was in a space at the bottom of the bookshelf.
She continued to find weird and wonderful places to sleep. Under covers. Between beds. On my clean laundry. Rarely on my knee, so on those odd occasions she came in for a cuddle it was a real treat.
Jem was a noisy cat. She was a hunter so had a collar with bells. And she talked non-stop. Not a miao, but a perp.
She liked to play. And stick her nose and toes in everything.
She’d often get herself into trouble but it was hard to stay mad at her for long, with those eyes asking “who, me?”