Merlyn was my first cat. I had a small apartment, and finally got the manager to allow one declawed cat. I checked the newspaper ads, and finally found the cat I was looking for. He'd been a stray, a family had adopted him, but one of the children had developed allergies and the cat had to go. The children had named him "Puffin", but as I looked at this magnificant black creature, I knew that name wasn't proper. I named him Merlyn, and brought him home.

Merlyn was always a friendly, outgoing cat, but with an unmistakable dignity about him. He loved to cuddle, and was willing to put up with my amateur photography. As he aged, he aged with grace. He was the patriarch of the house, and nothing took place without his attention.

Muffin was next. I had moved into a larger apartment, where I could have two cats. I was worried that Merlyn was lonely, so started looking for another cat. I saw an ad, went to a local trailer park, and had Muffin thrust on me. I'm not sure who was happier to get Muffin out of there, Muffin or I.

Muffin was his own cat, and was the closest to the stereotype of the aloof, non-caring cat, at least for strangers. But for those people he decided were worth knowing, he was affectionate, always looking for a head scratch or a back rub. He was a very quiet cat.

We got a tour, she found out about volunteering and decided to get her cat interation needs met by volunteering. But as we walked through the facility, we came upon this little black kitten, very small except for these two huge ears.. Loudest voice I've ever heard from something that small. So cute. I scratched his head through the cage, he purred with a motor worthy of a cat ten times his size. We started to move away, and again the voice cried out, and he tried to push his way through the wires of the cage to me. I took him home, and named him Banshee.

When Banshee got home, Muffin and Merlyn took one look at him, then ran into the kitchen and jumped up on the counters, up on the refrigerator, and up on top of some cabinets near the ceiling. They wanted nothing to do with this small intruder. Unfortunately, instead of getting the intruder to leave, Banshee would just follow me everywhere in the townhouse, always plopping down near me. We became best buds.

People told me that Banshee would grown into his ears, which I scoffed at. Well, they were right. Banshee grew into a good sized cat, and very strong. Doors had to be securely latched, no stack that caught his interest would survive. Banshee loved people, and people loved him.

I spent more time with the Animal Rescue League and was a member of their board of directors for a while. I arrived early for a board meeting once, and went back to see the cats. There was this one little kitten, cute, bright eyes, but terrified. I couldn't leave her there, so I adopted her on the spot.

When T.C. came home, away from the sound of barking dogs and into a real home, I assumed she'd act like the other cats. I couldn't have been more wrong. T.C. was still afraid, afraid of the other cats, afraid of people, and particularly me. Wouldn't let me touch her, certainly wouldn't let me hold her.

She soon reached an understanding with the other cats, and actually became quite close to Banshee and Merlyn. Still afraid to be held by a human...though she'd watch me cuddle with the other cats, as though she wanted it too.

Eventually, after years, T.C. let me pet her. One hand only, no grabbing, but I could touch her. It wasn't long until we progressed to head scratching, chin scratching. But two rules lasted the rest of her life. She would decide when the affection would happen, and no holding. She was a very affectionate cat in her own way, but you had to earn the right to get close.

I've wondered what happened in her background to make her turn out that way. She was found as 12 weeks on the street, something bad must have happened before then.