Rascal came to us as a foster. My sons fell in love with this tiny little black ball of fur, and just had to bring him home from the adoption show. They volunteered on this one. He was appropriately named: at the shelter, our cat team leader and one of the founders stood in front of his cage watching him. She turned to the other woman and simply asked, “Well, what’s a nicer name than devil?”
Rascal was a handful of a kitten. He had the energy of 20. He got into everything. He was also Mr. Charm Extraordinaire – he “kissed” your nose, or even your lips, especially if you kissed him. That alone made him very endearing in spite of all his mischief. Rascal was also very easygoing when people held him; he became an unofficial “dog tester” to determine a dog’s reaction to cats.
Despite all of his wonderful qualities, he was still a black kitten. The plight of black cats, even cute little kittens, is amazingly bleak. He was passed over time and again by adopters who went for the calico, the fluffy ginger, or even the tabby. In the meantime, every human in our household had fallen completely in love with him. A few months after we’d begun fostering him, my kids presented me with a big box for my birthday. Inside was none other than Mr. Charming. I was proud of them, they’d arranged with the rescue group to adopt him for my birthday present. He has been “my baby” ever since.
Rascal is not one to encourage peace and harmony. He tends to fight with other cats, and he is very territorial. The one area he is most protective of is me. Mom is all his, and his alone. The other cats can only come by me when they sneak in some time while he’s distracted, or in another room. Heaven help the one who gets caught on Mom’s lap! But for people, he is all about love. And we love him.
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