Janet had a little lamb,
Whose fleece with orange did glow.
And everywhere that Janet went,
The lamb was sure go.


Of course, that lamb was actually a cat. But I bet you already guessed that. His name was MacKenzie, and he was an orange tabby. There was nothing small about Mac, except for his size when we adopted him. At the time his name was Cyrus, and we were unaware that he didn’t meow. He actually made a baaing sound just like a lamb.

He was supposed to be his human dad’s cat. But like most cats, he decided with whom he wanted to spend his time. MacKenzie was my shadow. He followed me everywhere inside and out. And he snoopervised every activity in which I participated.

I actually always associated him with the Robert Louis Stevenson Poem,”My Shadow,” from A Child’s Garden of Verses (1885).

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.


MacKenzie sticking close by in bed.

MacKenzie sticking close by in bed.

MacKenzie was my faithful, man-cat companion until he went to the Bridge at age 10 in 2011. He even stayed by my side for five months that year while I was recovering from a broken leg. He was suffering at the time with inoperable cancer in his abdomen, and I think he welcomed the chance to spend his time snuggling next to me.

Since MacKenzie’s passing I have not had a little lamb or shadow by my side until recently. It appears, at least for now, that Astrid has decided to take up that post.

Those of you who follow this blog know that Astrid is our little escape artist. She can sprint through a barely open door before her dad or I even know she has entered a room. And she has bamboozled us a couple of times. We have yet to discover how, when or from where she escaped.

Astrid sitting in my lap while I work on the blog.

Astrid sitting in my lap and snoopervising while I work on the blog.

But recently she has taken to staying in the house. Even though she has full catio privileges, she rarely takes advantage of them anymore. I suspect it is because Fiona, for some reason, has decided she doesn’t like her. Or because, the last time she escaped, it got dark rather quickly and the skunks and possums were about.

With that said, she always accompanies me to the bathroom whether I am bathing, showering or attending to other needs. She enjoys lying on the kitchen counter or in my lap while I type. Her new form of entertainment is to get under the covers with me. She often will sleep or just as often try to remove my FitBit or any embellishment or buttons on my sleeping attire.

And she doesn’t really meow either. She mostly shrieks like a cat with its tail caught under a rocker.