Everyone told me I would know when I found "my cat." I had been to several shelters over the course of some months and was giving up when Annie caught my eye. Moving among many other cats, she seemed completely at ease and in her own world at just six months. I was captivated by her rabbit-soft fur and her tendency to fall down and roll over for no apparent reason.

In an effort to be measured in my decision-making, I told the person at the shelter that I needed 24-hours to decide and would be back. But just as the shelter was about to close, a young couple came in. I panicked. Unlike the other cats I'd taken some interest in, I was unconsoled by the thought of her finding a good home, even if it was not mine. I took that as my cue: this is my cat.
Once I got her home, she hid under the bed only to come out now and then as if to say when are you taking me home? When I woke up the next morning, she was still under the bed but she had badly soiled the expensive chair she had seen me sitting in all evening.

Only my guilt out-weighed my excitement that she was so communicative. Eventually she realized that I provide an unlimited supply of food, toys, and love.

Annabelle will sometimes wrap her tail around my forearm as if holding my hand when she wants me to be there. She is cautious and keeps her distance and is easily over-stimulated when pet. Not much into being kissed. But she is exceptionally gentle, loving, and playful when she feels safe, and she is a fabulous older sibling (truly motherly) to her baby brothers.

I love all three cats, but Annabelle has seniority and priority. I show this just enough that she and maybe the boys know it, but not enough to alienate her from her feline companions.
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