Back in the summer, I moved from my flat six months after my husband died, and in with my elderly father. In our garden one day, there arrived three cats. I call them Grey, White and Tabs. Grey belongs to an elderly lady who is a neighbour nearby, I have no idea who White belongs to, and Tabs is a young cat who took up residence in another neighbours shed, but now lives here. When I first found her, Tabs was hiding in the bushes in our garden, alone and afraid. But in time, she came closer to me as I put food down each day for her. Her two girlfriends were more friendly and now they visit each day, and I watch them play, eat and sleep. There is an old saying that cats have two homes, and I know mine is for Grey, unsure about White although she is welcome, but she comes and goes as she pleases. Tabs is now my cat. I have been adopted by the most dearest, sweetest animal you could ever wish to own. She is lively, nutty, and very loving.
