This is Miss Cleo.
In April 2002, I began working at a property I owned in the country. The house I grew up in was still standing ... somewhat. It had been empty for quite a few years. The result of a tragic family story. I had just retired from my job the previous October. I couldn't find any logic in paying rent in the city when I had property I could live on. I started the process myself of emptying out the 2,800 square foot house. I piled what could be burned in the middle of the driveway and burned papers, old clothing and furniture for weeks. In the midst of all this chaos, I'd decided I wanted a kitten. Something I could love and that would hopefully love me back. I bought a food and water dish, food, toys, etc, in anticipation of getting one. As quickly as I'd decided I wanted a kitten, I realized there was no way I could care properly for another animal. I already had a Quaker parrot. I was in the middle of this demolition and it had a much bigger effect on me than I thought it would. Physically I was exhausted; mentally I was a wreck. It was like digging up a grave and sifting through the bones. I fell into a terrible state. I hid it well but I was in a very dark place. (There was a volunteer group from a church that helped people in need if they had no financial means to get the job done. It took six weeks, but the house was finally razed thanks to those wonderful young people.) I gathered the items I'd purchased for my future kitty and gave them to my aunt who had way too many kitties for one household.
One particularly peaceful July morning, I parked my car in a corner of the yard of my future home. I opened the door and there looking up at me was a tiny black and white kitty with a little beauty mark by her mouth. I said, "who are you and where did you come from?" It was as though she'd fallen from the sky. I asked the neighbors but no one had ever seen her. I said to her, "you must be some kind of psychic! How'd you know I needed you? Did Miss Cleo send you?!" At that time, the television was swamped with commercials of a Jamaican woman who called herself Miss Cleo and claimed to be a psychic. That, as crazy as it is, is how she got her name. haha I'd first thought of Marilyn, because of the beauty mark, but decided Miss Cleo was more fitting.
I was wrong. Miss Cleo was not too much for me to care for. She was just what I needed. She was barely a month old. I noticed she panted like a dog, drank a lot of water and was rather puny. I took her to the vet and discovered she had a terrible infection. The vet said she'd most likely have been dead within a week had I not gotten her help when I did. I had to give her medications every four hours for five days. That's even throughout the night. ha So, I set my alarm to ring every four hours and made sure she never missed a dose. She's been healthy and happy ever since. She's brought me lots of laughs and smiles and I've never regretted her finding me.
This month, Miss Cleo is celebrating her 11th birthday.