That's Bonnie guarding the clean laundry. I met Bonnie at a pet store. The Feral Cat Foundation brought in cats to be adopted. It was a smorgasbord of roaming cats. Among the “free range” cats was a 6 month old tiger tabby with the longest tail and biggest ears I'd ever seen. She stood on a counter, meowed and rubbed her head on my hand. Then she growled like a dog, nipped at my hand and ran away. As I moved around she came back to me often with her meow, rub, growl, nip, run away routine. She'd adopted me and, glutton for punishment that I am, I adopted her.
My husband and I took her home and put her into the spare bedroom with water, food, liter box and a screen door so she could see out. The plan: she'd feel safe while getting used to us and our other cat. Wrong! She immediately crawled under the dresser. For 4 days she ventured out only after we'd gone to bed. I was in tears. My husband, who couldn't take my wails of despair any longer, tilted the dresser while I got her. She struggled. I held on. I petted her. She finally fell asleep. All was right with the world.
The next day Bonnie ventured out of her room. Two days later she timidly went downstairs. That's when disaster struck. She jumped on a table and knocked off a silver desk set. As the clatter and bang echoed through the house, a bolt of tiger tabby lightening streaked upstairs not to emerge for another 3 days. As she ran past I couldn't help laughing.
She's now 14, still afraid of strangers and my constant companion. I brush her and she "grooms" me. I am thankful she chose me.