We got our cat, Zachariah, at the Humane Society seven years ago. He was an orange tabby with a very long tail in a small cage all by himself. There were at least fifty other cats in the two rooms reserved for homeless felines. How to pick just one when there were so many wonderful cats to choose from? Zack, or Tweety, as the name on his cage stated, was about four months old and had been picked up as a stray. Our daughter, Fiona, who was then about nine years old, had been begging for another cat ever since our beloved Samantha had passed at the ripe old age of 21. Tweety was very friendly and wanted terribly to be touched. He purred and purred and rubbed up against my outstretched finger. "I think we have a good candidate here," I announced to Rich and Fiona, who were looking at a bunch of six-week-old kittens that all had already been reserved. Rich and Fee came over to see Tweety and agreed that he, indeed, was a very friendly cat. We asked the attendant to let us take him into the Get Acquainted Room. He was quite curious and immediately had to explore the entire perimeter. My husband Rich, who is a real cat person, got Tweety to come over and start playing with him. We all thought he was a good match and decided to take him home.
"He has to be neutered first," the attendant told us. "Oh, but we really want to take him today!" Fiona exclaimed. The attendant responded that Tweety would be neutered the next day and we could take him home that evening. Knowing that was the responsible thing to do, (plus the fact that we had no choice), we agreed to pick him up the following day.
When we retrieved him the next evening, he was in a little cardboard carrying case that didn't give him much wiggle room. We brought him home to our two very curious dogs, Sophie and Chumley. We took Tweety in his box to the back bedroom so he could explore that first, before meeting the two canines. He sniffed every inch of the room while the two dogs whimpered and squeaked behind the closed door. After about a half hour, we finally brought in the dogs, one at a time. They both had been used to having Samantha around, so once they came in and gave Tweety a sniff, they pretty much said "Oh, a cat. Big whoop," and went back out to await their dinner.
"Well that went well," we all agreed. "Now, let's give Tweety a new name." We went through dozens of choices, but when Rich suggested Zachariah, a name as long as his tail, Fiona really liked it. And it was so.
In the meantime, Zack, or Tiny Kitten, as Fiona likes to call him, has become a big bruiser of a cat. At one point, he weighed 16 pounds and we were told by his vet that he needed to lose weight. Now weighing in at a svelte 12 pounds, he is still one of the biggest cats I have ever seen. He continues to be very friendly, but can only handle new people one or two at a time. He has one rather annoying habit, and I know he is not alone among cats. After spending the night sleeping at the foot of our bed, he begins walking on us, starting around 5:30 AM, purring furiously. I wake up as he strokes my cheek with a velvet paw and then he curls up on my neck. I shove him off and look over to see him proudly sitting on Rich's hip. At this point, I get up, take him out of the bedroom and shut the door. He will have to wait until 7 o'clock for his breakfast.
