I have three rescues. “Brack,” the American short hair on the left, is named after my dad. He belongs to Mom but I’m his caretaker. Brack is about 18 or 19 years old now. He is blind but healthy and smart. He knows where everything is: the food, the couch, the bed, the litter box–all the necessities of life. The other cats are somewhat afraid of him because he sits and stares at them, but they don’t know that he can’t see. I rescued “Abigail,” the calico on the right, from a shopping center parking lot. She was a kitten at the time living in the bushes next to the restaurant Boston Market. Rather than call her “Boston” (too masculine a name for a female), I named her after Abigail Adams of Boston. *Abigail is small and shy. The other cats pick on her. Apparently, she thinks that if she looks away, they won’t see her because she can’t see them. Cats are experts at feigning indifference. Like Abigail, “Pickles” (the black and white cat on the right) is a feral cat. He used to sneak on my porch at night looking for cat food. When he started acting a bit tame, I made the mistake of touching him. He snapped at me and disappeared. After I started taking the required rabies shots, he decided to show up again. He’s now domesticated and likes people but bullies the other cats. He is a big cat–a very big cat. Naming him was not easy. “Goliath” or “Samson” might have been good choices, but I chose to name him “Pickles,” a fictional cat with big paws in a book called THE FIREHOUSE CAT. My cats often sit within a measured distance from each other with their backs turned. They seem to be saying something like, “One’s company, two’s a crowd.” They don’t like each other and make no secret of it. They like people and view other cats as competition. In the world of cats, body language says it all. *Abigail is my “Writer’s Companion.” She has collaborated with me on many projects, including newsletters, fiction, non-fiction, photography, and research. She’s a computer geek.