Pepper’s inner thoughts:

“I was munching on a scrumptious flower this morning (my mom hates when I do that), and I thought to myself, ‘A flower less one petal is just as lovely.’ Don’t you agree?”

“I stare at the pigeons perched atop the railing outside my mother’s barred window, and I think, ‘The glass between us will break one day, and you will see clearly that I am much stronger than you perceive me to be.’”

“As I dig my razor-edged fingernails into my mother’s plush mattress at half past four in the morning, I yawn, then stretch, rousing my slumbrous muscles, and I pause for a moment to think, ‘If I do this just right, if I awake my mother without angering her, my coat will be caressed (and God only knows there’s nothing better than an early-morning back rub). Thus, my approach must be tactful and well-timed.’ I step away from the bed to contemplate my plan and consider my options, and then I begin. Three scratches near my mother’s head, and her eyes open slowly. ‘Almost there,’ I mutter. Her hand drops. ‘Meow,’ I purr, comforted by my mother’s touch. ‘Effortless success could never feel this good.’”

[Found on 34th St, NYC, in October 2003, Pepper Anne (my lovey “Girl Cat”) is indeed a miracle. She doesn’t like me very much (cuddling is not her thing), but I love her dearly. I hug her and squeeze her every day whether she likes it or not.]