My first cat was named Peter. I was maybe eight. One day I went looking for Peter. I wanted to pet him and chit chat a while. I found him in the basement laundry hamper. I couldn’t be bothered turning on the light so I just stood there in the dark petting him and telling him this and that in the way of chit chat and I gave each of his feet a tiny squeeze until it seemed I’d squeezed more than four feet. I counted again. Definitely seven. I ran upstairs, announced to my mother that Peter had grown three new feet and she said no, actually, he must have had his kittens overnight. It was the first I’d heard that Peter was a girl. We considered changing his name but nothing else fit. So Peter he remained. Cannot think of him as a girl even now, even with seven feet. And I’m pretty sure he was grateful we let him be who he was.
**Note: the pic is not Peter, but who’s to say it’s not a distant relative of one of his faux paws?
♦
Other (not always) wordless friends:
Cheryl Andrews
Allison Howard
Barbara Lambert
Allyson Latta
Elizabeth Yeoman
Matilda Magtree 
I love this story!! Good for Peter.
“I yam what I yam…” coulda been his motto… (:
(Also one of the best cats… used to come to the beach with us. Hopped into the car and walked with us like a puppy. No leash. Hopped right back in when it was time to go home.)
your way of telling story is just fabulous! Thanks for this, dear Matilda. It brightened my day.
And now you’ve brightened mine. xo
Have you ever trusted a Peter to say who they are since?
Peters are my favourite mysteries. (:
Here’s to faux pas of every sort! Great pic; great story (and great comment above from Ms AH).
Thanks, B!