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Right out of school, before I got married, my room mate and I were living kind of out in the sticks a bit. I was working a second shift job, and every night I came home for weeks on end there was a stray barn cat on the front step. Beautiful calico at that. When she first started showing up she couldn't have been four months old. I kept shooing her away and heading inside. I'm not a cat guy.
Finally, after a few weeks of this, I gave her some milk. After that she I just couldn't get rid of her. A year later, she was "my" cat, and we were moving out. I couldn't "keep" her (not like I had "kept" her yet anyway...) where I was moving. So, I threw her in the car and ran her to my mom's, and told her she had to keep "my" cat for me. She asked me what her name was - uh, hadn't really thought of that... "'Spot' - yeah, that's it -'Spot'". The name stuck, and Spot lived darn near another 20 years with my mom. She sure perked up whenever I came over, too.
Keep the cat.
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Jeff
'72 911T 3.0 MFI
'93 Ducati 900 Super Sport
"God invented whiskey so the Irish wouldn't rule the world"
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