This is Speckles.
Her mother was feral, so there was some concern that the mother's kittens might be feral, too; especially when little Speckles (my pick of the litter) delighted in biting toes, fingers, nose and even breasts. Many a time I woke up because little Speckles had grabbed hold of my breast and sunk in her teeth.
Besides this, she was shy - running, hiding at any strange noise. There were people who seriously believed Speckles did not exist because they never saw her. And then there were the birds, the mice, and other moving targets that she duly hunted and brought home to the larder.
She was not so much a pet as a small version of a saber-toothed tiger that I fed, watered and tried desperately to brush.
Thankfully, I had an asthmatic cat called Scratch who required much loving attention.
I rocked Scratch and Speckles watched.
I sang to Scratch and Speckles watched.
I cuddled Scratch and Speckles watched.
I brushed Scratch and Speckles watched.
Then, one day, Speckles stopped watching. Somehow, she made up her mind to do the petly thing. She too would be rocked, sang to, cuddled and brushed - just like Scratch.
Speckles is not exactly tame, but she's unferal enough for me to love her and want to keep her. She's my little girl in little white boots (aka "Princess WhiteBoots").
Toronto, Canada
