It was one year ago today that Sire Billy Blue came to live at the posh landing pad we call The Hill. He was a little stray boy, wide-eyed and nervous, found just days previous in a back alley near Music Row. We're not really sure of the exact date of his birth of course, we just celebrate the day we got to call him ours. We handled several kittens at Happy Tales in Franklin (a real nice place for homeless critters to spend their pre-adoption days) then the lady said "and we just got this one a few days ago...."
Bingo.
He charmed us with his big yellow eyes, his soft-as-down, silvery-purple kitty fuzz, his gentility. We went to lunch to think on it. Over our salads I asked mom what we should name him if we got him. After a few not-right names she said with certainty, "Billy."
So now he is ours (much bigger too), and spends his time following mom down the hallway like a puppy, chasing Hershey's kisses, tangling with the cowhide rug, sitting in whichever window sills have the best views, treating the house like an obstacle course, drinking filtered water out of his stem glass by the leather chair, lolling around on the cool wood floors, licking tangy yogurt off of the most convenient spoon, even sleeping with mom and dad occasionally. I think he knows how good he has it, and we're grateful on a daily basis that he's our Mister Bill.
