|Many thanks to Anne for the mini cowboy hat. I bedazzled it for the occasion. Lola loves her some bling. (And cheezburgers.)|
Four years ago today I spent the afternoon at The Treehouse, a no-kill, no-cage animal shelter on Chicago’s north side.
And by shelter, I mean mansion.
Yup. It’s just a giant old house with each room filled with 10-20 cats, hanging out, chillin’ on the furniture. It’s hard to find a place to sit with all the kitties running around napping, dancing, and having a good time.
Whoa. Did you hear that? My non-cat-person friends just let out a communal gasp of horror.
Anyway, like I said, it was hard to find a spot to sit so I plopped down in the middle of the floor. Two seconds later, a fluffy sort of tater-tot colored cat walked into my lap, sat down and buried her nose in the crux of my bended knee. I pet her and she purred. I leaned down to let her smell me and she kissed my face. A big black cat came along to inspect, and she violently hissed and swatted him away, as if to say, SHOVE OFF PAL. THIS ONE IS MINE.
We have been together ever since.
I am so lucky she chose me.
Happy birthday, my beautiful Lola.