Tiny and frail, she was but a cotton bud, all white fur with blue eyes that look cross-eyed. Poor kitty. She was a reject.
Her brother, bigger than her, was wild and aloof and after three days of hiding beneath the bathroom bamboo walls, disappeared when we let him loose. He went back to his owner but a few weeks later, he died.
Now, Savannah is half-grown, her tummy, a bulge. She has learned to climb too, although just halfway through the trees. When we move around the backyard, she'd follow and run ahead of us, zooming in like a puppy.
When she feels our presence in the kitchen in the early morning, she'd meow behind the closed door.
When we eat in the lanai, she'd curl at the foot and when we tend to the plants at the front yard and back, she'd wiggle through leaves and lazily tans herself through mid morning sun.
While the last Habagat raged on and flooded the Village, we moved the front dog Shadee to the Lanai, which is Savannah's turf. At first, dog and cat snarled at each other. When we came back after the Habagat, two dogs and cat were friends with each other. The three bonded with each other in the face of calamity.
Savannah is a whiner, and a super muncher; she loves left over spaghetti. Whether full or not, she'd "miaw" to catch our attention.
We called her Scratchy before, but she's too perky and a pest, so we call her Savannah these days.
Savannah is a city in Southern Georgia. This kitty prefers to drawl like a Southern belle.
Some days, we think it's better to adopt a cat or a dog; without them knowing it, these lovable animals are loyal, sincere, and even save lives of their human owners.
