Zoey was the first cat I truly adopted on my own, as an adult. She was the most awesome cat, the cat of my young adulthood. Zoey was an intelligent cat, freakishly smart like she really comprehended what was being said to her. One day long ago, a feral cat we had, managed to sneak out a door that wasn't completely shut. George was an extreme feral, and I feared he was gone. I searched all weekend and couldn't find him. Finally, I figured that maybe he had never even gotten out of our fenced back yard, being so scared. I took another look and yes, there he was crouched under our sitting deck on the far side of our yard. I had no idea how I would get him back in the house. He absolutely would not be handled, and I worried if I tried to grab him and missed, he'd be gone forever and that would be torture. Enter Zoey. George worshipped Zoey, she was somewhat of a surrogate mom to him. Though our cats are all indoors, I trusted Zoey enough to do her job and go right back inside. I talked to her first and told her about her rescue mission. Locking all the other cats behind bedroom doors, I picked up Zoey and opened the sliding glass door to our kitchen. I brought her out to the deck George was hiding under and set her down, and took several steps back to give George a wide berth. I told Zoey, "there's George, talk to George." She started chattering at him once she saw him. He cried back. I told her, "Zoey, go inside" and motioned to the door. She chattered at George and he gingerly stepped out from the deck, and he trotted right behind her all the way inside and back to his safe zone, the storage space under our stairs. That day I called Zoey, Queen Zoey, because she was as regal, smart, and amazing as they come. She died at the ripe old age of 18 in 2010. I miss her everyday.

Carrie
Pollock Pines, CA