Linda Anderson

I told him that he’d have to let me know he was back and how to find him. For I believe that cats have at least nine lives. One afternoon, three years after Mugsie’s passing, I took a nap and woke up with the sure knowledge that Mugsie had returned. I hurried to tell Allen. I said that I couldn’t explain it, but I just knew we had to get to the humane society immediately, because Mugsie would be there.

Allen has all the qualities on my husband wish list. One thing I especially appreciate about him is that when I tell him something as crazy as this, he doesn’t argue with me about it. I guess he’s learned better over the years. So he drove me to the animal shelter and we started the frantic search for Mugsie, with the added anxiety that the building would be closing in thirty minutes.

Allen sat on a bench, probably trying to pretend he didn’t know me, as I went from kitten to kitten asking, “Are you Mugsie?” I found a darling Russian blue kitten with velvety blue-gray fur and took him to one of the visiting rooms. The kitten completely ignored me, turning his head from side to side to keep from looking at me.

This was something Mugsie had always done when I’d left him for a while. But I admonished the kitten-who-could-be-Mugsie, “You left me, I didn’t leave you.” I couldn’t get anywhere with him, but something was resonating inside of me. I just had a feeling this kitten was my beloved friend.