As most of you who know me know, I love cats. I've had a cat or cats from as far back as I can remember. I have never been picky about the breed or gender as long as the cat loved me. A couple of years ago, my neighbor, Peggy inherited two cats from her daughter when she moved from a house to an apt. Peggy only kept the cat inside for a short time before it was kicked outside. I saw it sometimes, but I had my hands full with three other cats. Just before we moved Peggy got pretty sick and moved to her son's house and the cat started showing up on my door step for food. When we moved to Foresthill, I took the cat with me just because. I named him Chester because he had a "Cheshire" look about him. He is a huge cat, weighing 10 lbs. His feet are so big I can hear him walking across the floor. He loves being outside except when it snows. One day he got sick so I took him to the vets. They asked me for his breed and I had to tell them that I didn't know because he adopted me. Well, to my surprise, they told me he was a Maine Coon. What a wonderful thing to be an owner of a breed known to be the "original" cat that immigrated with the colonists. Chester is such a great cat!! He is very even tempered, loving, and likes to sit on my lap and bumps his face into my face and purrs. He really likes to have his face scratched but, not his feet or belly. This picture I took really shows his benign and loving personality. Chester has to be the kitty I love the best, so far anyway.
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