She sits by the screen door watching the leaves blow, like a widow on the lighthouse cliff who hasn’t given up hope her sailor will come home. Her whiskers and ears twitch with every movement of the breeze.

Yes, whiskers. Seven is my cat.

Seven came to me on a warm October afternoon. I had the front door open to let the breeze in through the screen. I heard the smallest “meow” from outside, and realizing it wasn’t one of my four cats I went to investigate.

I can’t explain it, except in the way that I’m basically a Disney princess. I attract animals, especially strays. Peppurrr was the first stray I adopted. She was 10 days old and had been placed behind the tire of a truck. Her eyes were still closed and her ears folded over. I assumed her momma would come back for her, but after a search we realized she wasn’t coming back. I took her in a box with clean towels to the vet to find out if she was healthy and what to do next. I spent the next 8 weeks bottle feeding, litter box training, and trying to teach her how to be a cat. Since she grew up around dogs, she didn’t realize she was a cat until she met T2.

Sir Tangerine II (T2) was next. He’d been the neighbor’s cat but after watching the teenagers abuse him, I let him wander into my garage and stay for as long as he wanted. Turns out that would be forever, and I was totally happy with that. He took on a maternal role over Peppurrr: grooming, playing, how to ignore the humans… And he was a big snuggle bug.

Then came Bo, my sweet boy who jumped into my car on the way home from getting groceries. He would hike with me every weekend. We ended up assuming his previous family had abandoned him after fliers, social media posts, and inquiries at the humane society went ignored. He died of an accident after living with me for three years and I had a hole in my heart for a long time.

When Penny came into my life, I felt like Bo had sent her to me. She walked off a street of a rough neighborhood known for mistreatment and drug use. Her head, neck, and legs were covered in scars and scabs. She had broken teeth and nails. She was skinny, but not starving. Penny’s sweet smile and her cute underbite made her irresistible. Her affection and love were unmatched. I assumed she was part pit, and her desire to please was evident.

So when this soft “meow” showed up at my door that day, it wasn’t something out of the ordinary. I opened the door slowly, trying not to scare her with the creak of the screen. With just a bit of coaxing, she cautiously made her way inside. I immediately fetched her water and some cat food, which she greedily gobbled. She accepted soft pats and kept her distance from the other curious critters in the house.

Ty and I kept her in the spare room for a couple of nights to allow her space away from the prying eyes and aggressive investigation of the other cats. We named her Seven. She was the seventh animal in our house and somehow the name just suited her. By the third day, she and Azzy had become best friends and were inseparable. They were both young and alternated going into heat. We had planned on getting them both spayed once we saved enough. We didn’t let our cats outside anyway and T2, the only male, was fixed, so we didn’t have any reason to worry.

Seven got out once in December. I came home and the backdoor had been left open by accident. I searched everywhere for her until I heard a “meow” come from above. Seven was on the ROOF. I did everything I could think to coax her down – treats, sweet-talking, toys – but instead she meowed and followed me along the perimeter of the house. When she got bored with the game, she squatted and POOPED on my ROOF. I ended up climbing the fence – which after a sleepless 24-hour shift was a challenge in itself – grabbed her by the scruff and pulled her back to Earth. I gave her cuddles and snuggles and told her never to scare me like that again.

In January, after an accident where the front door didn’t close all the way, Seven and Azzy ran outside. Ty caught Azzy, but Seven was long gone. We assumed we’d never see her again. We put a box with fuzzy blankets, her favorite litter box, and a bowl of water on the front porch hoping to lure her back home. We kept an eye out in the park and on the streets in the neighborhood, praying we’d catch a glimpse of her. But after a couple weeks we had accepted the sad truth that she was probably gone for good.

After returning from the VNSA book sale one Saturday, satisfied with our treasures, our neighbors called us over as they attempted to corral a sandy-colored kitten in their yard.

“SEVEN!” I cried. I was overjoyed. She was skinny and feral, scratching and biting, but when she realized who we were, she snuggled close. We brought her in the house. She ate and drank like she hadn’t seen food or water in weeks. Once she was full, she laid on our laps and purred.

For the next few weeks, she followed me around the house, never letting me out of her sight. Her belly plumped back up and her natural, easy-going demeanor had been restored. But the other cats knew something I didn’t, yet, but suspected.

She continued to stare out the windows and screen doors, occasionally meowing for a long-lost love. After some research we realized she’d started “pinking up”. Seven had been in heat when she’d gone on her adventure. It was only a matter of time before the male cats in the neighborhood sniffed her out.

Now we wait. Her little belly gets rounder, and she meows at me when I call her “lil’ momma” – her new street name. But she snuggles harder and purrs when she sleeps. Azzy loves on her and I think she knows she’s going to be an auntie.

But you better believe the second she’s able to, she’s getting fixed up for good.

#spayandnuteryourpets