This is my first attempt at a diary and it comes at a time of great sadness. I am a huge animal lover and all of my dogs and cats are rescues.
My grandmother passed away almost 4 years ago. At the time of her passing she had four cats and a toy poodle. Friskie was the oldest feline and came to live with me. I still don't know how old Friskie was, but my guess is at least 15.
My grandmother wanted all of her cats euthanized upon her death because she believed no one could care for them as well as she did. The irony here is that all of her cats hid whenever we came to visit, except for Friskie and Pretty Boy. Typically Pretty Boy was wherever the people were, and Friskie eventually came out of her hiding place to say hello to me. She was a beautiful tortoise shell calico with large green eyes who loved to talk. My grandmother used to talk back to her, which probably didn't help keep Friskie quiet. And she just wanted to be petted or held. But if there was too much commotion, she would run and hide wherever it was she hid.
When she first came to live with me I had two other cats, and my male orange tabby Beau eventually fell in love with her. But as in typical female feline style, she was just as ready to swat him as to return his affection.
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