I am still, silent and unmoving.  I look about the room at the five men, none of them appear to notice me, and I relax, just a little bit.  I must be ever vigilant!  I keep one eye on my escape route.

“So…… how d’ya think it’s gonna do?” one man asks, his accent English.  He cracks his knuckles.   He is tall and lean, with dark hair and clean-shaven face.  He is clearly nervous.

Another of the men shrugs and reaches for a sandwich from the plate I’ve been watching, a tray piled high with little sandwich quarters amongst the other delicious smelling things on the table.  The man eating has straight blond hair, another lean fellow.

A third rasps a cough and I jump, just a little bit.  I check the door to ensure it remains open.  “Does it really matter?” he asks.  He has curly dark hair, a rough voice, a scruffy look to him.

“Not really,” says another of the fellows, a very dark man.  His voice is…… unique, he wears heavy dark glasses as if he were blind, but I think he saw my movement, so I hold still again, trying to be as motionless and quiet as possible, although I quiver with anticipation and fear.

“Nah, doesn’t matter, we had fun doin’ it, din’t we?” the final man asks.  He also has an English accent, with curly reddish hair, sunglasses and he’s a little heavier than the other Englishman.

They all agree to the statement and help themselves to refreshments, sandwiches, cheese, drinks, crackers and fruit, everything temptingly displayed and arrayed to entice.  I am enticed, I am so enticed, yet I remain still, biding my time, it will come.  I must be patient.  But I am so hungry.

I learn their names as they talk and I creep, but it is very confusing.  The first man, the one with the dark hair and the English accent, is called George, or sometimes Nelson.  The man with blond hair is called Tom, or Charlie T, or Junior!  The curly dark-haired man is Bob or Lucky, the man with the dark glasses is Roy or Lefty, and the Englishman with the curly red hair and sunglasses is Jeff or Otis.  How can they have so many names?  This doesn’t make sense, how can they possibly keep it all straight?

I try to focus my mind on what is important.  I try to pay close attention to everything that happens.  I remember all the stories and I’m afraid, but I’m so hungry, the smells from the plates of food are simply calling me to take something, anything, and then run with it as fast as I can go.  But I must wait until their attention is turned elsewhere.  So I settle where I am and try to contain my eagerness.  My time will come, my time will come.

“Yeah,” says George-Nelson, “I s’pose yer right, doesn’t matter if th’ critics like it or not, it’s just been a while since I put anythin’ out, makes me a bit nervous, ya know?”

“Ah, c’mon, George!” exclaims Tom-Charlie-Junior.  “You’ve probably had more experience putting out albums than almost all of us combined!  Well, maybe not Roy, but the rest of us.”

“Speak for yourself, Junior,” curly-haired Bob-Lucky says.  “I’ve had near as many records on the charts as George and that other band he was in!”

The dark man with the dark glasses chuckles as he gets up from his chair and moves closer to the open door.  I watch him nervously.  He’s very near my escape route, but he looks outside and then stands casually leaning against the wall by the screen that sometimes covers the door and lets the smells out but keeps me out as well.  I still have a clear exit, so I relax, but I must remain cautious. 

“Didn’t know many of your records hit the charts, Bob,” he says slyly, a little joke apparently, because laughter ensues. 

Is this my chance? 

I creep closer, then hold my position.  The food smells so good, I can nearly taste the smell.  Oh, please, keep your attention on each other, don’t mind me, don’t see me, I wish myself invisible.  Has my movement been detected?  The man with the dark glasses looks my direction, but I can’t tell if he sees me or not.  I am certain I am well hidden, yet I am nervous, watching, waiting, still and silent.  He looks back towards the others and I relax and settle myself to wait some more, considering.  If I go this way instead of that, I will have more cover to hide behind, so I carefully change my path and inch closer.

Jeff-Otis takes a sandwich off the top of the pile, no, I was watching that one!  It doesn’t really matter, there is another, but the pile is dwindling.  But even if the sandwiches are gone, there are still other things that smell good, and I’m sure if I can only reach the table, I can fill my empty belly.  But it’s so dangerous, I must be careful, I must wait.  I can’t afford to be caught!  Don’t forget the stories!

“Well, what d’ya think ‘bout doin’ another record?” George-Nelson asks.

“We’ve barely got Volume One in the can, and you’d have us working on another one already?” Bob-Lucky asks, his voice raised in complaint. 

He sounds a little sullen, he apparently didn’t see the humor that everyone else saw over the joke from the dark glasses man.  Roy-Lefty, I remind myself.

“Yeah, but we all had such a blast putting Volume One together, why don’t we do another?” the blond says.  He takes another sandwich and I have to swallow the rush of saliva as I watch him enjoy the food, it’s tuna!  Oh, it smells so good.

“What would we call it?” Roy-Lefty says.

Suggestions fly around the room and I take the opportunity to creep closer, inching my way nearer my goal.  My mother would be proud of me, silent and stealthy hunter that I am.  I grow more confident with each step.

My heart is beating rapidly, I look back to check my escape route again, it’s still clear, and I’m certain even if Roy-Lefty tries to stop me, I can dodge around him; he looks slow.  I am confident that my escape is clear.  Very important, that!  I can’t afford to be trapped, the memory of the stories I’ve been told make me shiver in fear.  Yes, I must be certain my escape remains clear!  I look again, wary and cautious.  The dark man with the dark glasses stands quietly by the door; he doesn’t look my direction.  He looks outside at the lush green grasses and trees surrounding the house; my forest, my jungle, my home.

“Well, ya know thur’s gonna be bootlegs creepin’ out from th’ sessions, it’s a damned surety these days!  Why don’ we call th’ next one Volume Three, that way th’ bloody boot’s gonna end up bein’ Volume Two?”

Laughter erupts and agreement comes from all the men at George-Nelson’s comment, but their talk about booted feet or whatever it is they discuss doesn’t interest me.  I creep closer, listening with one ear and trying to be as quiet as possible, but they certainly can’t hear me over their own laughter!  I’m so close now, so close!  Only a few feet more, but those few feet are the most dangerous.  I tremble with anticipation.  Oh, the smell of the food!

As they continue talking, I make my move, I can’t wait any longer, the smell is making me crazy with hunger, my belly is so empty!  I only want one sandwich, just one, please, please keep your eyes turned away from me. 

I go up over the back of the couch, along its arm and to the table, grab the tuna sandwich and make a leap for freedom.  I hear their startled shouts, I’ve been discovered!  But it doesn’t matter, I have my sandwich and I am so fast that I’m almost to the door, only a few more feet to go!  My escape is clear, I am joyous, exultant!

I am the best hunter in the world!  I am the swiftest runner in the world!  I am……

I am trapped!  The screen slams shut only inches in front of my whiskers, the weight of the sandwich has slowed me down too much, I wasn’t expecting that! 

I stand my ground, face them all and growl warningly, they can take my sandwich over my dead body!  I wave my tail and puff up to appear much larger than I am, focusing my concentration to ensure that every single hair stands straight and tall, my tail grown to twice or even three times its normal size.  I growl again and take a mouthful of the sandwich, chewing rapidly and swallowing, nearly ecstatic over the flavor of the tuna, it’s so good, it’s so good.

I hear their voices as I eat, but I eat as fast as possible so that they won’t take my dinner away.  I growl once more, so that they know I mean business.

“Yer puss-cat, Tom?” 

That sounds like George-Nelson, and I eat faster, keeping a wary eye on the men; they seem not to be paying me too much attention, they haven’t moved, except for the slamming of the screen door.  I have the dark glasses man to thank for that, he must have moved quickly when I leapt for my dinner.  I keep a very cautious eye on him, but he stays where he is as I eat.

“Nah, there’s always some scrounge cats hanging around the house, sure is a tiny little thing, isn’t he?  Pretty skinny and hungry, too!”

I try to puff up even further.  I’m no he!  I am Ssshera, queen of my domain!  And I’m not tiny, I’m big, ferocious, and a feared hunter! 

Well, the crickets and butterflies fear me, anyway. 

The mice laugh at me right now, but pretty soon I’ll be big and strong and…… and…… and I take another bite of the sandwich and can nearly feel myself growing stronger and bigger.  I’m also growing full and sleepy.  I nose about the remaining sandwich and lick up a little more of the tuna, it’s so good but I’m afraid I can’t eat any more, my stomach isn’t big enough to eat all this yet.  But I don’t want to leave it behind.  I take another bite and force it down.  I’ve been hungry for so long, another bite won’t hurt me.

I suddenly remember that I’m trapped, I can’t escape.  I was so hungry that I forgot!  Oh, the stories I’ve heard come crowding back and frighten me.  I turn and bump my head against the screen, testing.  It’s solid.  I try to claw at it, but my claws are too small and weak to tear the horrible material.  It’s keeping me from my home, I want to go home, back to the dark jungle, the forest that hides me from human eyes!

“Let me out, let me out!” I cry.

I hear the men’s laughter and I turn back to face them.  How dare they laugh?  Oh, I’ve forgotten to keep my concentration focused and I’m back to my normal size, so I puff up again and I hiss at them.   I am Ssshera, fearsome hunter, cower before me, although you are so much bigger than I.  I am not afraid!  I am fierce and strong!

“Feisty little thing, isn’t she?” Roy-Lefty says quietly, watching me.  At least, I think he’s watching me, it’s hard to tell with the dark glasses.  But at least he knows that I am a ‘she.’

I am suddenly in the air, a hand circling my overly full belly and taking me far, far away from the ground!  I struggle, I claw, I bite and I scream!

They may try to kill me, but I will show them that I am one to be feared!  I know all the stories of what humans do to cats, the mice told me all about them!  They feed cats to big ugly creatures called dogs.  I’ve never seen one before, but the stories were enough to make me shiver in my skin and determine to stay far away from such creatures.  A squirrel told me I was foolish to listen to the mice like that, but I couldn’t help it, they’ve been all I’ve had for companions since mother went away.  That and the crickets, but the crickets don’t talk to me anymore, not since I started catching them and eating them because I was so hungry.

“Shhhh, shhhhh, easy li’l puss-cat, shhhhh.”

I’m held by the scruff of my neck by George-Nelson and I go limp, I can’t fight anymore.  I want to, but I can’t.  I’m doomed.  Oh, to have the fierce hunter Ssshera come to such an inglorious end!  I will be fed to a dog and I will be no more.  There was so much to see and do and learn, and more butterflies to chase!  I am sad, but at least I will die with a full belly.  And I taste blood on my teeth, the one who holds me didn’t get away unscathed.  Feel the wrath of Ssshera!

His long, lean fingers remain pinched on my neck, but his other hand rests under my feet so that I feel less afraid of my distance from the ground.  I am nestled against his chest and he’s so warm, so nice and warm that I relax in spite of myself.  He smells good.  Not like mother, of course, but he smells sweet and spicy at once.  As his fingers relax on my neck, the fight goes out of me, his warmth and scent have undone me.  I’m so tired.  His fingers stroke my fur into submission and I begin to purr with enjoyment at his caress.

“Looks like ya made a friend, George,” Jeff-Otis comments.

“Cute li’l thing, in’t she?  Really soft.  ‘ow old d’ya think she is?” he asks quietly, and I grow sleepy as he strokes me, my purring grows louder as my eyes droop towards closing.

“Dunno, probably just barely old enough to be away from her mother.  Jesus, I can hear her purring all the way over here,” Tom-Charlie-Junior says.

I open one eye and see that the speaker is back at the sandwiches again.  But I don’t care because my belly is full and I am comfortable and warm and the man who cuddles me against his chest is warm and soft and feels so good.  I almost feel as if I’m back with my mother again, and I settle myself against his shirt, kneading against it, nuzzling against his bare neck and searching……

“I think she’s tryin’ t’ nurse, yer right, she must be awful young,” George-Nelson says, gently pulling me away, although I cry out.  “She’s got sharp claws an’ teeth, too!”

The others laugh and tease him about becoming a ‘wet nurse’ at his age, but I don’t bother listening, I only want to stay here with him, warm and comfortable against him as he cuddles me against his chest again. 

Perhaps he won’t feed me to a dog.  Perhaps the mice were wrong.  Maybe the squirrel was right and I shouldn’t have been listening to mouse stories.  I’m so warm and comfortable, this feels so good.

“What’re you gonna do with her?” Roy-Lefty asks.

“Dunno,” George-Nelson replies.  “Livy likes cats, maybe it’s ‘bout time t’ get ‘er an early Christmas pressie.”

“Cheap bastard!”

“Smart man!”

The words come to my ears at the same time and I don’t know who said what, but the laughter that immediately follows the comments disturbs me.  I cry out and am soothed into purring again, his fingers caressing me and I sigh in pleasure.  I’m so sleepy.

“What’re ya gonna to call ‘er?” Jeff-Otis asks.

“Dunno, we’ll ‘ave ta wait an’ see.  Maybe I’ll call ‘er Margarita Wilbury.”

The others laugh and then the Tom-Charlie-Junior man hums a note.  The five men begin singing a song as if they had planned it already, their voices somehow joining each other and forming a whole.  His voice is near, right above my head, and I can feel the rumble in his chest as he sings.  I sink deeper towards blissful sleep, purring with joy as they sing the song slowly, like a lullaby.

     “Margarita, Margarita, my Margarita.......”
They break into gentle laughter, but it isn’t loud enough to bother me.

“My name is Ssshera,” I say politely to him, George-Nelson, my man, but he doesn’t appear to notice.  I yawn, showing my fierce teeth, and then stretch, showing my dangerous claws.  I am Ssshera, queen of my domain, fierce hunter, strong, stealthy and silent.

The raspy voiced one sneezes and the others chorus ‘bless you’ to him.  He sniffs.

“I’m allergic to cats,” Bob-Lucky says sheepishly, and I drift to sleep to the sound of laughter.

***

Let me out, I cry.  Loudly.  I don’t like this, I’m trapped in this box and I’m frightened.

“Shhhhh, puss-cat, don’t be scared, shhhhhh.”

“What’s wrong with her, Dad?”

“I think Margarita’s just a li’l scared, that’s all, Dhani.”

I try to reach my man, George-Nelson, but he’s on the other side of the box and I’m somewhere down near his feet.  I can smell him, but I can’t see him.  Oh, I’m miserable, someone help me, please help me!

The box is turned, oh, what’s happening?  I cry louder. 

Oh, that’s much better, I can at least see his feet now!  I reach a paw out through the bars and touch him as he scoots his foot closer; that makes me feel better.  Still, I don’t know what’s happening, and I don’t like this.  The woman’s with him, too, she somehow belongs to my man, his scent is on her, and I don’t like that.  He’s mine, I tell you, mine!  Her feet are too close to his, and I hiss at her, reach out through the bars and bat at her foot.

“George, I don’t think your cat likes me.”

“Oh, Margarita’s awright, Livy, she jus’ needs ta get ta know ya a li’l better.  I think she’s so young she kinda imprinted on me when we trapped ‘er at Tom’s place yest’day.  She prob’ly thinks I’m ‘er mum or somethin’ like that.  Jus’ give ‘er a little time, sweetheart, she’ll come ‘round.  An’ anyway, she’s yer cat, happy Christmas, luv, a bit early.”

“Thanks a lot,” she says, but I am outraged.  I belong to no one!  Least of all to her!  I am Ssshera, feared hunter and ferocious and strong and big!  I am queen of my domain!

“You realize she’s going to have to be in quarantine for the next six months?”

“Yeah, I know.  I’m a bit worried ‘bout that, luv.  D’ya think she’s gonna be ok?”

“Well, I suppose she’ll have to be all right, there’s no other choice.  Customs isn’t going to let you sneak her in just because of who you are!”

“I know that!”  He sounds irritated.

I stop listening because I am so tired.  This has all been very strange.  When I woke up, I was in this box and I didn’t even remember being placed in it, I remembered falling asleep with my man’s scent in my nostrils and his taste on my tongue, his warmth comforting me, his fingers stroking my fur.  Since then, I’ve been in the box and a room where the woman and a boy waited, back in the box and in a car to an airport.  Then I was carried onto a plane, whatever that is.  All I know is that it’s noisy and cold, there’s not much room in here with this nasty smelling tray of gravel in my box, and I’m miserable.  I make myself as small as possible and tuck my paws under my chest to keep them warm.

“Well, she’s too little to play with, Dad.  I can’t wait to see Spike and Jake again!” 

The boy’s voice is from the other side of the woman, I can smell him but can’t see him.  He, too, belongs to the man.  And to the woman, both their scents are on him strongly.

The woman laughs.  “Don’t worry, Dhani, your dad’s little cat is probably going to grow like a weed with proper food and care.”  Her feet move away from his as she shifts in her chair.  “Well, she’s a little better now, isn’t she, George?  I guess she just needed to see you.  You’re such a softy!  I think we’d have a menagerie if I let you!  I wonder what she’s going to think of the dogs?”

My eyes fly open in absolute shock!  Dogs?  Oh, no, dogs eat cats!  I was wrong, my man is taking me home to feed me to his dogs!  Oh, woe is me, I cry.

“Looks like I spoke too soon,” the woman comments.  “Maybe you should try holding her?”

I see his hands fumble with the window that has bars on it, and it springs open.  His long fingers reach for me, but I strike out at him, woe is me, woe is me!

“Ow!”

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“What’d she do, Dad?”

“She bit me!  That’s not a nice way t’ treat yer owner, Margarita!” he says, reaching into my box again.  I growl and hiss, striking again, fierce like quicksilver, and I snag my claw into his thumb.

“Ow!  Shit!”

“You’d better hope she doesn’t have rabies!” the woman says, laughing, her voice affectionate and teasing.  “You know how you are about needles!”

“Yeah, Dad,” the boy chirps.  “Remember that time you fainted when the lab technician drew your blood?  That was great!  Your eyes went all funny and kind of rolled back in your head, and then you……”

George-Nelson interrupts him with an irritated growl; it’s a good growl, an angry growl, with depths and layers of menace.  It would scare me if I weren’t already big and fierce!  The boy just giggles in delight.

“Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?” asks a new voice.  “I’m afraid you’re disturbing the other passengers.”

I peek out of the un-barred window of the box at the woman standing next to my man as he sits in front of me.  Oh, oh, no, he grabs me and I am held by the scruff of my neck, my limbs involuntarily going slack, I’m caught, is he going to feed me to his dogs now?  Woe is me, woe is me.

“Sorry ‘bout that, miss……”

“Oh, look, she’s so tiny, what a cute little thing!  I can’t believe she was making all that noise!”

I’m not tiny, I protest, I’m fierce and strong!  But it only comes out as a little mew, I can’t do anything when I’m held like this.  The next moment, I’m cuddled against his chest while his fingers remain pinched at my neck, I can’t do anything even though I want to run away.  But I’m so tired and scared, his warmth and scent subdue me again and I nestle against him in comfort and exhaustion.  How can he feel so good and yet be so bad, to want to feed me to his dogs?

“See?  She’s better now.”  I hear his voice above my head, the English accent smooth and quiet.

“I think she’s definitely your cat, George.”

I feel her fingers tentatively stroke me, and I hiss, nearly asleep.  I fall asleep to the low rumble of his laughter.

***

Well, I’m back in the box. 

I don’t remember him putting me back in here, but here I am.  There seems to be some kind of commotion going on, because the voice of the woman who stood beside George-Nelson and called me ‘tiny’ is coming from everywhere, echoing and strange.

“Welcome to Heathrow International, and thank you for flying with us.  We’ll be at the gate shortly, please remain in your seats until we come to a full and complete stop.”

“What’s Heathrow?” I ask.

“Uh oh, she’s awake, George.  Well, at least we’re nearly home.”

“Is Uncle Pete gonna be there with the car, Mom?”

“He should be, your dad called him last night to make sure,” she replies.  “That was really nice of Pete to work out all the details for your cat, honey.”

“She’s yer cat, Livy, I told ya.”

I remind them that I am no one’s cat but my own!  At least I’m turned so that I can see my man’s feet.  I reach a paw to touch him and am comforted by the touch. 

But then I remember about the dogs, oh! 

I pull my paw back and vigorously wash his scent from it.  Bad man, why did I let you comfort me again?  Woe is me, woe is me, I cry.

“What do they do with them in quarantine?” the boy asks.

“I s’pose they just keep ‘em in a cage,” George-Nelson mumbles in reply.

“That sounds horrible, Dad!  Can we visit her?”

“I dunno, Dhan, I ‘ope so, we’ll have ta ask th’ man we’re s’possed ta meet when we get off th’ plane.”

What’s ‘quarantine,’ I ask?  They don’t listen!

I cry.  I cry as my box is picked up and jiggled about as he walks.  I am utterly miserable and I’m afraid.  After untold time of heartache and crying, I make a decision.  I will face my death as befits a queen, I am Ssshera, the great hunter, and I will hold my dignity around me.  I stop my cries with difficulty, but I do stop them.

“Thanks fer bein’ ‘ere, Pete, howzit goin’?”

“Hi, Uncle Pete!”

“Hello, Pete, it’s so nice to see you!”

“Glad yer all home,” a strange voice says.  “It’s good t’ see ya!  Izzat th’ li’l cat ya found yerself?  Quiet li’l thing, in’t she?”

The woman laughs.  “Yeah, well, you weren’t cooped up on a plane with her all the way across the Atlantic!  The only time she was quiet was when George was holding her, it was absolutely adorable how she’d just curl up with him.  I think Margarita thinks George is her mother.  I swear, though, she’s the smallest little kitten I’ve ever seen.  Your brother couldn’t live without her once he saw her.”

They all laugh, but George-Nelson’s chuckle sounds embarrassed.

“Well, th’ feller ya need t’ see’s over ‘ere,” this ‘Pete’ says.

We walk some more.  Then a new voice greets us.  He sounds…… funny.  He stutters.

“M…… Mr. Harrison, m…… my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, of course.  H……how do you do? This is such an…… an unexpected pleasure, I’m really quite…… quite…… errrr, well, errrr…... how do you do, I’m Hillary Wainwright, Silver Ridge Kennels, a pleasure, Mr. Harrison, a distinct pleasure!”

I am jiggled about and I don’t like it!  I look out the holes in the box and see that this new strange man is shaking George-Nelson’s hand, shaking his whole body, nearly!  I wish they would put me down!  I’m being shaken, too!  My man pulls his hand away and he sounds quite irritated when he replies.

“Yeah, fine, whatever, nice t’ meetcha.  This is Margarita.  I can’t believe th’ bloody laws’re so strict we gotta put ‘er in quarantine fer six bloody months, she’s gonna be a full grown cat by th’ time we pick ‘er up!!”

“Well, we…… we can’t make any exceptions, Mr. Harrison, just one case of rabies on our island and it could be…… well, disastrous.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, but th’ idea o’ leavin’ ‘er fer six months......” George-Nelson grumbles.

“Come on, George, it’s really late, we’ll go see her tomorrow when she’s settled, can’t we, Mr. Wainright?” the woman says.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, of course, you’re certainly welcome to…… to visit her at any time between eight and four on weekdays, and from noon until four on the weekend.  We’ll take good care of her, she’s a tiny thing, isn’t she?” the man comments, I can see his face looking at me through the holes at the top of the box and I lay my ears flat and ignore him.  “So…… I suppose I’ll see you again, sir?  Here’s my card, feel free to contact me about anything, anything at all, of course.”

My box is given to the new man as George-Nelson clears his throat, I can just see his face and he looks unhappy.  What’s happening?  Where are you going?  Oh, I know, they’re sending me somewhere to fatten me up, then once I’m fat, they’ll feed me to their dogs!  I forget about being dignified and I cry, woe is me!

“Ya got all th’ info, Pete?” my man asks.

“Yeah, Silver Ridge’s over in Reading off o’ Bath Road.  It’s not far from yer place.  Closest one I could find, did me best fer ya, son.”

“Ta, Pete.”  He doesn’t sound any happier than he looks.

“Bye, Margarita!” the boy says, sticking his fingers through the holes in the box. 

I sniff them and then they’re withdrawn.  I can see them through the wires on the window opening, they’re leaving, they’re leaving!  My man is going away.  I cry.  Even though he’s going to feed me to his dogs, I still feel all alone when he walks away, he’s all I know, nothing smells right here, it’s all different and cold and I don’t like it.  George-Nelson looks back and I cry again and reach a paw out the bars.  Don’t leave me, please! 

He hurries away with the boy and the woman and the other man that somehow smells a little bit like him, they all turn the corner and they’re gone.

“Well, well, well,” the new man mumbles, but he doesn’t stutter now that my people are gone.  “George Harrison, who would have thought?  Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d ever have the chance to meet him!  Come along, little kitten, we’ll take good care of you!”

The strange face peeps in at me, but I close my eyes and ignore him.  My box is carried to a car and we drive for a while, I shiver in misery for the entire drive.  When we arrive at the new place, I am put in a cage by myself, but there are other cats in nearby cages.  I can smell them but can’t see them, and they won’t talk to me when I introduce myself.  I feel so alone.

***

How long is forever?  I’m certain I’ve been in this cage forever.  It’s small and it’s cold and I don’t like it.  When I cry, the other cats growl at me and tell me to be quiet, that it’s hard enough enduring this ‘quarantine’ without a crybaby.  I try to be quiet, but I’m so afraid.  There’s plenty of food, but that’s just to fatten me up, so I refuse to eat it.  A man in a white coat takes me out of the cage and carries me to a nasty place that smells funny.  He sticks something sharp like a thorn in my leg and it hurts, and they force my mouth open and make me swallow something they put down my throat and then put me in an even smaller cage.  I cry as the man in the white coat pushes a button on a box on the wall.  I am Ssshera, I am a fearsome hunter, how dare you treat me like this?  I want to go home!  I want my forest with my mouse friends and the crickets and the squirrel, my jungle with the birds overhead in the trees! 

“Marie, please give Mr. Harrison a ring and tell him that his kitten didn’t eat anything her first night here and we’re putting her on IV fluids and trying to interest her in some food.  He may want to wait until tomorrow before he comes to see her.”

A screechy nasty voice comes out of the box and I flatten my ears and growl at it.

“He’s already called today, Doctor, I’m afraid I told him that his kitten was doing quite well.  He said that he won’t be able to come ‘round today because of some problems at his home, but he’ll be here on the weekend.  Should I ring him back and tell him that Margarita isn’t doing very well?”

The man in white pushes the button again.

“No, no, no, thank you, Marie, let’s not bother the man, we should have little Margarita right as rain by the time he comes in.”

He walks back over to my cage and looks at me.  I hiss at him.  I wish he would take this stick thing out of my leg, I don’t like it.  It’s all wrapped up in cloth tied around my leg, though, so I can't get it out myself.  And my leg is cold where it hurts me, cold like water.  I shiver.

“Well, well, little Margarita, we’ll get you back on your feet quickly, won’t we?  Don’t want to disappoint Mr. Harrison, do we?  Of course not.  Your owner’s a very famous man in these parts, you know.”

He walks away, but he leaves the thorn thing in my leg.  I can barely move in this little cage and I lie down in misery.  When the thorn is finally removed, forever later, I am taken back to my bigger cage and I’m almost happy to be there, it feels like home now.

How long is forever?

***

I’m so bored.  Forever has lost all meaning, it just goes on and on and on and on.  I finally started eating because when I didn’t, they’d take me to the little cage and put the thorn in my leg again.  But I try to only eat enough so that they don’t use the thorn.  I’ve given up trying to talk to the other cats, but every once in a while, one goes away, and I cry a little bit.  Poor cat, going to certain death.

The only thing that makes the days tolerable is when someone visits.  I suppose they’re trying to see how quickly I’ll fatten up, but when someone comes, I almost feel happy, because they take me out of the cage and pet me.  I even let the woman pet me (although I still grumble at her a little and hiss to keep her in her place), and I let the little boy pet me, too.  He’s very gentle and he comes most often with the other man, the one he calls Uncle Pete.  I wish I could ignore them, but I’m so hungry for someone to touch me, I can’t help but crawl up close to their necks and purr at their warmth and touch.  It’s best when my man comes, George-Nelson.  Even though he’s just going to feed me to his dogs, I’m so lonely that his scent and his touch makes me feel good; he holds me against his chest and I nuzzle his neck and feel almost happy for as long as he’s holding me.  I wish I could go home, won’t you take me home, I ask?

“Is she okay, Dad?” the boy asks as I wallow in his touch, my eyes half shut and my mouth half open to drink in his scent.

“Yeah, I think so, Dhani.  They’d ‘ave t’ tell us if she wasn’t.  I think she’s just lonely.  It’s a helluva long time t’ quarantine a creature, she was prob’ly only about six weeks old when we brought ‘er here.”

“Well, she’s still awful small, she still seems like a kitten anyway.  How much longer before we can take her home, Dad?”

“Errrr, we oughta be able t’ take ‘er home next month.  Th’ bloody laws need overhaulin’,” he grumbles.  “An’ I hate comin’ here, ev’rybody keeps askin’ fer me autograph an’ they look at me like I’m somebody important!”

“Well, that’s because you’re a Wilbury!”  I hear the boy sigh.  “Poor Margarita.  Do you think she likes the toys I brought her?”

“Yeah, I’m sure she does, Dhan.  That was a good idear, son.”  His voice smiles.

The boy’s fingers scratch behind my ears and I purr quietly.  Too soon, I’m back in my cage and forever goes on and on and on.  And on.

***

I nearly can’t remember my mother any more.  All I can remember is the box I live in, my cage.  It’s my home now.  I think I remember a green home, with grasses and trees and mice and crickets; it was a jungle, and I loved it there, although I was always hungry.

One day, I’m taken from my home and put in a smaller box and carried to a room, are they going to stick the thorn in my leg again?  Oh, my people are in this room, my man and the boy and the woman.  They all look happy and I shake off the dream I feel I’ve been living forever.  Oh, oh!  It’s probably time for me to be fed to the dogs, I suppose I’m big enough now.  What a sad life I’ve had, caged and fattened and now facing death.  I decide I’m going to ignore them completely, even though it hurts me.  I will be dignified and face my death like the queen that I am.  I remain quiet as I am carried to a car and put into the back seat, with the boy sitting beside me, his hand resting on the little cage that surrounds me.

“Did she fall asleep?” the woman asks.

“I dunno, can ya see inta th’ carrier, Dhan?”

I open one eye and see the boy’s face through the holes, he’s peering at me, and I hiss mildly at him for disturbing me.

“Nah, she’s still awake, Dad, she hissed at me!  Doesn’t she remember me?”

“Well, she’s probably a little scared, Dhani,” the woman replies.  “She was probably used to being in that awful cage at the kennel and she doesn’t know what to think about being taken away from there.  She’s spent nearly three quarters of her life in that cage!  I don’t know why she’s so quiet, though, and I’m not going to ask!”

He chuckles and I resolutely avoid letting the sound comfort me. 

“Me neither,” he says.  “She sure made a lot o’ noise on th’ plane ride t’ England, din’t she?  ‘member that, Dhan?  I ‘ad no idear such a little thing could make so much noise!  She’s gonna be a tiny thing all ‘er life, I think.  Surprises me she ‘asn’t grown much in six months, can’t believe the time went by so fast!”

Fast?  Six months?  Forever and forever and forever!  And now that I’m fat enough, even though they call me ‘tiny’, I’m going to my doom.  My life has been utter misery.  Just when I win my freedom from the cage, I’m going to die.  I am resigned, I don’t care any more.  Just touch me one more time, let me lie on your chest and drink in your scent, let me be warm and free for five minutes before you kill me.

“She’s a lot bigger than you think, really, George, I’d bet she’s nearly twice the size she was when you found her,” the woman says.

He laughs.  “That’s not sayin’ much!”

I go into a trance on the long drive and awake from it only when the car stops.  The door opens and I listen to the boy tumble out.

“I’m gonna go let Spike and Jake out!” the boy shouts excitedly, his words receding as he runs off.

“We’d better get your cat into the house first, George.”

“Yeah, prob’ly a good idear.  Dhani’s been so excited t’ get Margarita home, you’d think ‘e never ‘ad a pet before!”

Their laughter assaults me and I twitch my ears down flat against my head.  My box is picked up and I’m carried again, I can see a beautiful jungle of plants and green grass and I want to go there.  But I’m carried into a building and down a hallway.  I think longingly of what I just saw surrounding the building; oh, if I could only get away and escape to the jungle, I might be able to save myself.  But I’m trapped in my box and I find myself growing resigned to my fate.  I’m so sad, I can’t help but cry a little bit.

“Poor puss-cat, she’s ‘ad a rough time of it, ‘asn’t she?” George-Nelson says softly.

“Well, you knew that she’d have to go through quarantine when you brought her home!”

“I know, I know, I’m just worried she’s not gonna snap out of it, she’s so listless, she seems so sad.”

“She’ll be fine, George.  I can’t believe how much you’ve worried about her over the past six months!  Just give her a little time to get used to things and she’ll be back to normal.”

My box is placed on the floor of a room in the building and the barred window is opened.  I hiss halfheartedly but don’t really pay much attention, I’m too sad.

My man gets down on the floor and looks into my box.  I stare back at him, unblinking.

“I ‘ope she’s feelin’ all right.”  He sounds worried.

“Well, this all has to be pretty scary for her.  I wish we could explain to her what’s going on.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I turn away from him.  I won the staring contest anyway, he blinked first, so there’s no reason to continue it.  I tuck my paws under my chest and close my eyes.

“Guess we’ll just leave th’ carrier door open an’ she’ll come out when she’s ready.  Not too much in ‘ere that she can get into.”

“We probably should leave her alone for a little while and then bring her some dinner.”

They’re still talking about fattening me up.  I keep my eyes closed, hoping they’ll leave, hoping they won’t see my despair. 

“I ‘ope th’ dogs don’t hurt ‘er.”

I hope so, too, I hope it’s quick and painless, but I’ll make sure they never forget me.  I flex my ferocious claws and then tuck my paw under my chest.

“They’re good dogs, and they’ve had cats around here before, they’ll be fine.”

So this is the usual way of things.  Capture a cat, feed it until it’s fat and then give it to the dogs.  What cruel people, I think mournfully!  I hear George-Nelson get up from the floor and I open my eyes and watch his feet walk to the door, see her feet move to join him and they exit the room, closing the door behind them.  I stay where I am, I’m not even curious.  I don’t want to know what’s outside my box.  Not at all. 

Well, maybe just one little peek. 

I get up and stretch, then go to the edge of the box and look out.  I’m in a room with a bed and a dresser and curtains on the window.  I’m a little scared to leave my box; I feel like I’ve been inside one box or another for my entire life.  My last home, my cage, was a little bigger than this one, though.  I sneak out and look around, very carefully, ready to dart back into my box and safety at the first noise.  There’s a litter tray over in the corner of the room and a post covered with carpeting.  I see some toys on the floor, they look like mice and they smell funny.  There’s even a ball with a bell inside it, but it makes too much noise and I don’t like it.  I sniff everything and look all around the room.

I grow more confident being outside of the box.  It feels good to be outside of the narrow confines of the walls.  This room is another box, but it’s a big box, and there’s lots of room for me to run and jump.  I decide I’d like to look out the window, maybe I could see the grass and jungle, but I’m not sure how to get there, it’s a long way off the ground, I don’t think I can jump that high.  Maybe if I get up on the bed, then I could walk across the dresser?  No, that’s not close enough.  I’ll have to climb the curtains. 

I check out the bed first, it’s fun to play with the lace at the edge of the bedspread, but it falls apart under my ferocious claws, they’re much stronger than they were so long ago, I’ve gotten big and strong!  I go hunting under the covers and push the spread off the bed, the blanket is nice and soft, so I roll in it and make myself a nice little nest, oh, it’s warm and very nice!  The pillow smells like birds, and I claw at it until my fierce claws tear the fabric and feathers come out of it, then I play with them for a while until they cover the bed and drift down onto the floor.  A lamp on the dresser is fair game and it falls over onto the bed when I push against it.

When I try to scramble my way up the curtains, they come down on top of me, making a loud noise.  I rush back into the safety of my box with my heart pounding, I’m so scared.

The door opens and I see his feet.  I push as far back into my box as I can.

“Jesus, Margarita!  Whur are ya?  Kitty kitty kitty?  C’mon, puss-cat, whur are ya?  Shit, we’ve only been outta th’ room fer fifteen minutes an’ ya already wrecked it!  What a bloody mess, I can’t believe it!  How can such a small cat make such a big mess?”

He gets down on the floor and glares at me in my box.

“Oh, thur ya are.  Bad kitty, bad gurl!”

I stare back at him.  He shakes his head and gets up, begins straightening the room.  He calls for Rita, and a woman (not his woman, but another) comes in and finishes the job as he shakes his head and leaves.  The woman cleans up all the feathers and the blanket and curtains and then leaves me alone again. 

I wonder when it will all be over for me?  I lie in my box and wait for what will surely happen sooner or later.  I conserve my strength for the final battle.  I will die with dignity, but they will know Ssshera’s wrath before I am gone!

I crack an eye open when I hear something at the door and wonder if this is it?  I ready myself.  The door opens and a face peers into my room.  It’s Dhani, I like him, he came to visit me often when I was in my forever box, my cage, my last home.  I want to go see him, but I’m afraid.  He has two companions that look around the door, animals that I’ve never seen before; they’re much bigger than I am with long sweeping tails and I don’t know what they are!  They’re rather pretty, with fur that’s a little longer than mine.  The first one is mostly black and tan and the second one is almost completely white, whereas I’m black and gray striped.  Their ears are like mine, proud and pointed, but their noses are quite a lot longer.  What are they?  The boy and the animals come into the room and the door closes behind them.  Dhani seems to be nervous.

“Hey, Margarita, are you in here?  Here kitty, kitty, kitty.  Mom and Dad said I should leave you alone for tonight, but I want you to meet Spike and Jake!  I’ve been so excited for you to meet them!”

I’m too curious to resist.  What are these animals?  I come out of the box and approach them. 

“Hello, I’m Ssshera,” I say politely.  “I’m a fierce hunter and queen of my domain.”

The two animals rush up to me and sniff me all over, they’re rather rude about it, actually; the white one nearly knocks me down!  I rake a claw across his nose, but gently, just a warning. Is he a kind of cat I’ve never seen before?  But I’ve never seen a cat with claws that don’t go back in.  Actually, my mother is the only other cat I’ve ever seen, so maybe they’re just another kind of cat.  They’re definitely not mice or squirrels or birds!  Or crickets!

“That was a bit rude,” the white one whines, sounding affronted.

“Well, you were both slobbering all over me and sniffing me in places you shouldn’t be sniffing!” I reply.  “I tried to introduce myself and you just started sniffing without even saying hello!”

He sits down and scratches behind his ear a little sheepishly.  The black and tan one sits down as well and watches me intently.

“Well, yeah, sorry, we were a bit excited.  We ‘aven’t ‘ad a cat ‘round ‘ere for a while.  I’m Grrrr an’ this is Rrruf, we’re German Shepherds,” he announces proudly in his English accent.  “And this is our boy, Dhani!  We’re ‘is protectors!  He’s been tellin’ us all ‘bout ya, we’re glad t’ finally meetcha!”

I’ve never met a German Shepherd before, in fact I’ve never even heard of any such animal! 

“How do you do?” I ask them both.  “I know Dhani, he came and visited me when I was in my box in the other place forever.  I heard the boy call you Spike and Jake.  Do you know why humans give us names that aren’t our own?  Why don’t they just use our real names?”

“Oh, that’s dead easy,” Rrruf replies easily.  “It’s ‘cause they can’t understand what we say, they don’ know our real names!   Ya just have ta get used to it, they’re a bit thick, but they’re grand, really!  Yeah, they call me Spike.  I guess they’re callin’ ya Margarita, eh?  How d’ya do?”

I extend my nose for a polite sniff of hello.  He smells…… different, not like anything I’ve ever smelled before.  His fur isn’t near as soft as mine, it’s kind of coarse.  Grrrr smells very similar to Rrruf, but his fur is a little softer.  Not as soft as mine, of course!

“Yes, that’s what they’ve been calling me,” I reply.  “Although I don’t know why they’ve bothered to give me a name, George-Nelson is just going to kill me soon.”

They look at each other in shock, their ears pricked forward.  They both turn intent brown eyes towards me.

“What’re ya talkin’ ‘bout, lass?” Grrrr asks.  “This’s a grand place t’ live, an’ George is a wonderful master!!”

“No, that can’t be true!  I know what humans do to cats, I’m going to be fed to his dogs!  I’m not stupid, I’ve heard all the stories, I’m doomed,” I wail.  “First he kept me in a cage where they tried to fatten me up, and now that I’m finally fat enough, he’s going to feed me to his dogs!”

German Shepherds must not be subjected to the same treatment as cats.  Lucky animals, I think mournfully.

Grrrr laughs, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in good humor. 

“Oh, I think ya been listening t’ th’ wrong stories, Margarita!  An’ yer not very fat, a ...... errrrr ...... a dog prob’ly wouldn’t even wanna touch ya, bet yer stringy, too.  Yer a pretty young thing, aren’t ya?  I promise ya, they’re good people, I’m dead serious, yer gonna live a really good life ‘ere.  Ya don’t have ta worry ‘bout any dogs eatin’ ya, lass.”

“How long have you been with them?” I ask. 

I’m a little angry that he called me by that Margarita name, I am Ssshera, that’s my real name, and I haven’t forgotten their real names!  But we only just met, so I’ll let it go this once.  Can I trust my new friends, I wonder?  Have they lived here long enough to know for certain that the stories are false?  I dimly remember a squirrel telling me I was silly to listen to mouse stories, but it was so long ago.  Forever!

Dhani pets Grrrr and Grrrr’s tail thumps loudly on the floor.  He washes the boy’s face and then turns back to answer me.  Rrruf leans against the boy and demands attention, his tail thumping against the floor as the boy pets him.

“This ‘as been me boy fer ‘bout five years, but Rrruf’s only been ‘ere fer three,” Grrrr says proudly.  “I came ‘ere as a wee thing an’ I gotta say, ‘cept fer when they travel, it’s been a really good life.  Hate it when they travel, though, I miss ‘em so much an’ it seems like forever until they come home.  I love me boy, an’ I love them, too.  George is grand, ‘e throws a ball for me t’ chase sometimes, an’ ‘e throws it a lot further than Dhani does!”

“What about the woman?” I ask.  The idea of chasing a ball doesn’t sound very nice, but maybe that’s what German Shepherds do.  Cats hunt, so maybe German Shepherds chase balls for a living?

“Oh, yeah, that’s George’s wife, Livy, she’s gear!  A real good ‘un, she is.  She gives me treats sometimes!  She’s me boy’s mother, ya know,” Grrrr replies.

“Do you really think George-Nelson won’t feed me to his dogs?” I blurt. 

I have to wash my back after that, because I’m embarrassed that I let them see my fear.  But if they’ve lived here for five years and three years, they’d know for certain, wouldn’t they?  Should I believe them?

Grrrr lies down on the floor, his bright eyes watching me, a smile on his mouth.  “Yeah, ya got nuthin’ t’ worry ‘bout, Ssshera!  I promise.  C’mon over ‘ere, if ya wanna lie down fer a bit, love.”

Rrruf lies down as well.  I’m gratified that Grrrr has remembered my real name, and I accept the invitation and lie between them, they’re very warm and soft and they feel nice.   I don’t really mind when they snuffle me although it tickles a little bit.  I’m restless, though, and they let me crawl over them, sniffing, but I’m not as impolite about it as they were.  The two of them smell funny, but maybe that’s what German Shepherds smell like.  It’s definitely not cat-like, but it’s nice.  I like their tails, and they obligingly twitch them for me to hunt and pounce on, but I’m careful to keep my claws in and not hurt them.  I’m so strong and fierce that my claws could hurt them badly, so I make sure I play gently with them.

When I settle back down between them, I enjoy their touch and warmth, it’s so nice to be out of a cage and talking to another animal, even though I’ve never seen their kind before.  Grrrr tells me stories about George-Nelson and Dhani and the woman Livy, while Rrruf lies with his head on his paws and simply listens, he doesn’t seem as talkative as Grrrr, but he’s still friendly.  Dhani sits on the floor next to Grrrr and pets all of us, it’s very nice!

I learn that my man is really called George, but neither of my new friends can explain why he and all the other men had two (or more) names.  Grrrr tells me that George actually has more names than that!  George-Nelson, and George, and George Harrison, and Nelson Wilbury, and Beetle George, and Dad, and Honey!  It’s enough to make a cat’s head spin, how on earth do they keep it all straight?  I wonder what his real name is. 

I remember my first home as we talk, and I tell Grrrr and Rrruf that I’ve seen beetles before, they dug holes in the ground in the jungle where I lived with my mother, but they weren’t very good to eat.  Grrrr asks me what happened to my mother, and I’m sad, but I tell him I don’t know, she left one day and didn’t come back.  Rrruf nuzzles me in sympathy and I pat his nose.  I tell them that I spent my time with the mice and the crickets after mother left, until hunger drove me to the house and the tuna sandwich that started this adventure.

Grrrr asks me about that, and I’m happy to tell him all about it, about how sneaky and stealthy I was and what a good hunter I was.  Well, I was a good hunter until I got caught, but I almost got away!  It was only because of the dark glasses man that I was trapped!  And then after I was caught, I was in a box on a ‘plane’ and then I was in a cage forever and it was lonely and awful and the only thing I ever had to look forward to was when someone came and visited me.  I tell them that even when I was visited, I was afraid, because I thought I was being fattened up, so I always wondered if this visit would be the one where I’d be fed to the dogs.

Grrrr gives me a lick and his tongue isn’t a cat’s tongue, but it feels nice and comforting, so I purr my thanks. 

The door to the room opens, and I nearly jump, but Grrrr tells me not to worry because it’s George, he heard him coming, and I think that Grrrr has very good hearing.  I lay back down and nestle against his side.  He and Rrruf are both very gentle with me, even though they’re so much bigger, and I like my new friends, they’re very warm!

“Dhani, thought we tol’ ya not t’ come in ‘ere!”

“But Dad, look how well they’re all getting along!  Margarita didn’t seem afraid of Spike or Jake at all!  She walked right up to them, and they’re all friends already, they were playing and everything!  They’ve been sitting here really quiet and peaceful, just a few meows and woofs, like they’ve been talking to each other!  Spike even licked her and she purred!  And she patted Jake on the nose!  Really, she did!”

“That’s nice, Dhan, but I said we need t’ give th’ kitten time t’ get adjusted,” George-Nelson-Harrison-Wilbury-Beetle-Dad-Honey says.   “I’m sure Margarita’s fine, but we don’ wanna overwhelm ‘er, we need t’ give ‘er a little time t’ get used t’ livin’ ‘ere.  Ya need t’ take yer dogs t’ yer room an’ keep ‘em away until she feels comfortable.”

I look at my companions in astonishment.  “You’re…… you’re dogs?” I ask, incredulous.

They both grin as they get to their feet when the boy whistles.

 “Yup!” says Grrrr, giving me an affectionate slurp of the tongue across the top of my head.

 “See, we tol’ ya that ya got nuthin’ t’ worry ‘bout, Ssshera!” Rrruf laughs.  “I promise we won’t eat ya!  Ta ra, see ya t’morrow, love!”

I’m stunned to immobility as Grrrr and Rrruf follow Dhani and walk out the door and it closes behind them.  When the man scoops me up in his hands, I don’t even cry out, I’m too surprised at what just happened.  I met two dogs!  And they were nice, they’re not going to eat me at all!  Oh, the mice were wrong! 

I purr wildly as the man strokes me, and I knead against his sweater, butting my head against his chin.  Oh, I’m so happy!

“Well, Margarita, ya seem a bit more yerself, kitty.  Feel better, do ya?” he asks.

“Oh yes, definitely, thank you,” I reply. 

He merely chuckles and pets me and I relax in his warm hands, his chest warm against my side.  I’m so much bigger that he has to hold me with both his hands, I hadn’t realized how big I’d grown!

George has food with him for me, and I grow ecstatic at the taste of the fish he feeds me, I’m hungry for the first time in forever.  He even has a little bowl of milk for me!  I eat until I can’t eat any more, and then I drink some of the milk and wash my paws and face, smoothing down the fur on my head that Grrrr messed up when he licked me.

George is sitting down on the bed and he leans back against the pillows, so I scramble up onto the bed and join him.  I curl up on his chest, gently rising and falling with his breathing, and I’m so warm and comfortable and full that I grow drowsy as his fingers stroke my soft fur.  His breathing grows deeper and his caresses grow slower as we sit together, as I purr him to sleep.  His hands go limp, but I continue to purr, my eyes closed in utter contentment.

I open an eye when the door swings opens.  It’s her, but I think about what Grrrr said to me and I try to be polite as I remember how nice she was to come visit me when I was in my forever cage.  She smiles when she sees us on the bed and comes over to pull a blanket up over my man, arranging it so that it covers my body, leaving my head free, oh, it’s so nice and warm with him beneath me and the blanket covering me.  I purr my thanks and don’t even hiss when she scratches behind my ears.

“I can’t believe this, George never falls asleep this early in the evening!  And I know better than to wake him up, the man’s impossible!  I guess I have you to thank for helping him fall sleep, little kitty.  Do you think we can we call a truce?”

I blink at her sleepily.  As long as she realizes who’s boss......

“Have a nice sleep, honey,” she whispers.  “And you too, Margarita.”

I turn my head and rasp my tongue across her finger, accepting her fealty.  She smiles and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her as I shut my eyes, warm and comfortable and loved.

I hear a cricket chirp and am instantly alert.  I slip stealthily off my man and begin stalking.  I am Ssshera, fierce hunter, and I will keep my new home free of the things that might disturb my family’s rest.  When the hunt is over, I return to my man on the bed.  He’s turned onto his side and I curl up next to his warmth, breathing in his scent and falling asleep to the gentle sound of his breathing.

Cheryl Mortensen has been a Beatle fanatic since the 1960s, but somehow went on to other things in the late 1960s, only rediscovering her passion for "all things Beatle" in the late 1990s (and on into the new century).  She is a computer programmer and an avid photographer. (Concert photos of bands and performers is her favorite area -- ask her about her Ringo pictures!!)  Cheryl lives with her husband of many years (Mike), her German Shepherd (Sorsha), and a bunch of fish in the tank and the pond that they've never bothered to name.