Part 1 - Sheba

When I was almost six I wanted a dog. I didn't want just any dog. I wanted a big fraggin' dog. Big enough to eat bad kids and ride to school.

On my sixth birthday I got a surprise. It wasn't a dog. It was a cute little black kitten with a fuzzy tail. I didn't really want a fuzzy tailed kitten but this one kinda grew on me. And climbed on me. And ambushed my ankles. Stood on her back feet with paws extened like a boxer to challenge me. It didn't take long for her to win my heart.

We named her Sheba because it didn't take long for her to assert her royal birthright as queen of the household. While Sheba was jett black, she had quite a lot of Siamese in her. She had the intelligence, the loud, demanding voice, strong will and indomitable spirit that characterize the breed. In bright light, you could see her brown "points" on her face and paws.

It didn't take too long for our roles to reverse. I was no longer a kid raising a kitten. I was a kid being raised by a cat.

In those days my Dad's job kept him on the road 4 days out of five. My mom was a teacher who didn't get home until 5:00. When I got home from school at 2:30 Sheba was always glad to see me. She would purr real loud and do little figure eights around my feet. She was great company. She always liked to watch TV and, unlike other people, she never insisted on changing the channel.

Over the next year or two Sheba and I both grew and regardless of bad weather, bad moods or bad luck I could always count on Sheba to be waiting for me beside the door.