Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," shamelessly devoted to felines since birth! I wish I had stuck to them always, instead of buying a macaw. You can't hear a cat meowing three blocks away through heavy traffic.
A year and a half ago, I fostered a baby kitten for the good folks at Woodstock Trading Company. I happened to walk into the store when they had just rescued the little guy from the crawlspace and were trying fruitlessly to get him to eat. He was about 10 days old.
I took care of "Monstro" for five weeks, or until he was old enough to give up bottle feeding. He was an "only kitten."
It's been 18 months, and when I go to the store, that cat seems to know me. The staff tell me that he doesn't make over anyone the way he makes over me. He always sniffs me all over very curiously and will often climb into my lap and sniff my face.
"Monstro" is the only kitten I've ever fostered that I've seen grow up into an adult cat. And yes, he has grown ... and grown ... and grown. He's got the posh life, indoor cat in a hippie store, surrounded by Grateful Dead merchandise and acres of tie-dye.
Could it be that "Monstro" remembers me? How long are cats' memories? Could he recognize my scent? My voice? Even though I only go to Woodstock about once a month?