The cats didn’t understand what had happened, of course, but none of them put up a fuss – or even try to run and hide. They were survivors, one and all. Their individual stories, of what had brought them to the shelter, were as unique and varied as most life stories are, but you know that was then, and this is now, and from this moment forward, their life stories would all share one very particular thing in common – they were stinking rich!
Six in total; there was Hairy, Mittens, Snowball, the twins, Felix and Lil Miss Kitty, and Tom.
Mittens was a sweet, female tabby with white paws, the original member of the group. Her story of arriving at the shelter had been the result of a hit and run – somebody sideswiped the shelter’s mailbox, and just drove off. The director had been working in her office, heard the screech of metal against metal, and looked up just in time to see a beat-up old Impala speed off around the corner and out of sight. Simultaneously, a little gray tabby with white paws scampered up the driveway. Named ‘Mittens’ by the director, partly because of her white paws, but even more so because Mittens enjoyed “helping” the director type on her computer keyboard, and when she did so, director’s correspondence ended up looking like the director had typed it while wearing a pair of mittens. They also seemed to share a love for old Bonanza reruns, which the directory sometimes watched in the shelter’s dayroom on her lunch hour. Mittens would always jump up on her lap, settle in cozily, and seem to watch right along with her.
Hairy was a wise, older, purebred Himalayan, who had been turned into the shelter by an old man after his wife passed away. His wife had raised purebred Himalayans – Hairy had been her last, and favorite, grand champion. After her passing, the old man didn’t have the heart (or ability really), to care for Hairy as he needed to be cared for. Riddled with health issues himself, the old man had felt bad having to make the choice of surrendering the animal, but knew it was going to eventually come down to him or the cat.
Himalayan’s coats need regular grooming, and Hairy’s had been so neglected that the shelter staff immediately made the decision to shave his hair into a lion’s cut…a humiliation of gargantuan proportions! The casual onlooker would never know it, of course, but the fact that he kept almost exclusively to himself until his fur had begun to grow back, said it all. There was always a quiet watchfulness about him – which could always be seen in the unwavering stare of his piercing blue eyes. He always moved stealthily about the shelter; generally preferring to do so in the dark of night when the shelter employees had all gone home.
Many a time, one of the shelter workers would happen to gaze up sometime during their workday and be started to discover Hairy staring down at them from some high perch, and no one could quite figure out when or how he got there! Truth be told, this greatly pleased Hairy. Their respect and honor just felt right to him, and as his fur grew back, a lot of his old confidence came back right along with it. Once again, he would stride heartily up visitors and inspect them with a kind of tolerant curiosity, and on occasion, he would even go into the shelter’s tiled foyer and yowl loudly. He had the deepest voice anyone at the shelter had ever heard of in a cat, and he seemed to do it for no apparent reason, but perhaps he did it for the reason real lions do it – as a show of power, and to scare off intruders.
Later, some of the shelter workers, who’d felt especially in in awe of old Hairy, jokingly suggested that maybe he’d even been a mole in Abigale Van Buren estate, and had somehow worked his magic on old Abigale. Their reasoning: What else could have explained why the old lady left her entire fortune to a bunch of cats? If ever there was a cat that could pull off such a coup – it would be a cool cat like Hairy!
Snowball was a pretty, solid white, short haired, female cat, who’d been turned in by a young couple after they spotted her, looking very pregnant, and scrounging for food around a dumpster in their apartment complex. Over time, they’d seen a few coyotes around the area and were concerned for her safety, so they’d coaxed her into a cardboard box with a can of tuna and turned her to the shelter. Their decision was not a bit too soon either, since she gave birth to the twins…Felix and Lil Little Miss Kitty…within days of being turned in.
By now the twins were more like teenager cats, than kittens – old enough to care for all their own needs, but at that awkward, in between stage – developmental wise – all ears and paws – which made them somewhat less appealing to be adopted out – and explained why they were still at the shelter too.
The last fellow of the group was Tom – named thus by the shelter staff, because he had been just that – and old tom cat. He’d been turned in because he’d been out tom catting around a bit too much in the surrounding neighborhood – yawling and fighting with other male cats – and one guy had just had his fill of it and trapped him and dropped him very unceremoniously at the front desk, with a “I hope you neuter him soon! Otherwise, we’ll probably still be able to hear him from our place!”
It was a sad day for Tom when they did it, of course…but Tom was a survivor like the rest. After the drugs finally wore off, and he realized that his good times had truly been cut short, he grieved his loss for a while – then just tried to focus on the positive. At the shelter he had a readily available food supply, very comfortable living conditions, and he found that he really liked not having to fight and scape all the time anymore, like he’d always had to do back in the ‘hood’. In the grand scheme of things, he hadn’t been run over by a car and left for dead, and he hadn’t been chewed to death by a blood thirsty dog – things could always have been a lot worse!
On May 1st, Abagail Van Buren died – and left her entire $60 million estate – the whole lock, stock, and barrel of it, to the six cats in residence at the shelter the day she died. To say that it made the news, is an understatement. True, she had no family – no long-lost relatives – to claim any of it. But still! Who leaves that kind of fortune to a bunch of cats?! And though most doubted it, Abigale was completely in her right mind when she made the decision to do just that.
It wasn’t that the woman had been a mean, old, friendless, woman – or senile – or anything of that sort. She simply had for all the world slipped into, and out of, the world about as quietly as any soul could. An only child, born to wealthy reclusive parents, Abigail had lived – and died – in virtual anonymity.
She had considered allowing her vast fortune to just fall to the state, but ultimately had decided on something else. It was, in many ways, the only decision Abigale ever really made for herself. She decided she wanted to have all the cats living at the local cat shelter become the beneficiaries of her estate. Her vast fortune would go toward their care and maintenance (and it was her hope), utter delight and enjoyment, for as long as they lived.
The simple truth was that Abigale had decided that though she had never had one, if she’d ever had a pet, she might have enjoyed having a cat. They were quiet creatures, often a bit reclusive, which Abigale felt connection with, and yet they were soft and could be very loving. Yes, if she’d ever had a pet, Abigale thought to herself, she probably could have enjoyed having a cat. There wasn’t time for it before she died, of course, but perhaps, she could make the lives of a handful of dear forsaken souls – i.e., the furry ones that had been forsaken to the shelter – enjoy a better life than they could ever have imagined, and so that’s exactly the plan that was set forth in her will.
And on May 1st, on an otherwise totally unremarkable Tuesday morning, Abigale drifted away quietly – in almost in total anonymity – only this time, dreaming of a room full of soft, furry, delightful cats scampering all around in her bed.
Things happened rapidly after that.
Brief discussions were conducted with each member of the staff, and they all chose to stay on – to care for the estate and its new furry residents – and by noon, the chauffeur was dispatched to the shelter to collect the cats.
As the cats nibbled their kibble, napped, or played around in the shelter dayroom, the late Miss Abigale Van Buren’s personal chauffeur opened the door, and strode to the front desk of the local cat shelter. He removed a legal document with all the details from his inside coat pocket and handed it to the director, who had already been notified and was waiting to receive the driver’s visit and the signed paperwork.
Once delivered, there was a bit of conversation between the two, mostly just discussing the few items – personal effects of the cats – that it was of the shelter director’s opinion, it would be advisable that the driver take with him, to make the rehousing project of all the cats to their new home, the Van Buren estate, smoother and less traumatic for the cats. Cats don’t really like change that much, so it was advisable to send things like their personal food and water bowls, their bedding, litter boxes, toys, etc. with them. Not that the low-cost items used at the shelter would fit in all that well given their new status as the richest cats in the world, but they were still just cats after all, and even if they could somehow comprehend their induction to the lifestyles of the rich and famous club, they were still just cats. So, the driver, under advisement of the shelter director, dutifully began the process of carrying each cat, one after the other, with all their little do dads, to the stretch limousine, parked with the air conditioning still running in the driveway, and then gingerly drove all six of them, like cat royalty, to their new forever home – the Van Buren Mansion.
Thus began the first day of their new life together, as the newest residents of the vast Van Buren estate – attended to night and day, hand, and foot, by servants, handlers, and attendants of all sorts, whose sole purpose revolved around meeting (and wherever possible) exceeding the cats’ every desire…for the rest of their lives. Which, when you think about it, since cat’s have nine lives, and usually live a long time, was a sweet deal that old Hairy (I mean Abigale…) orchestrated for them all.
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