When you own two cats you can look into the mirror and tell yourself with complete confidence, "I am not a crazy old cat woman."

When you own three cats you can look into the mirror and tell yourself, "I am not a crazy old cat woman" and mostly you believe it, but sometimes you wonder just a little.

We went out to the no kill cat shelter last weekend to look for a third cat. It's well over an hour from where we live, so it's a bit of a hassle to get there. And of course it was heartbreaking, as it always is, because there are about 80 cats there. Most of these cats belonged to elderly folk who had to give them up because of a health crisis of some sort.

Shelter visits are hard, even to a shelter such as this one, where the cats get to roam free through a two storey house. You walk in through the door and you're instantly greeted by five or six intensely friendly cats, rubbing, bunting, purring, just begging for a scrap of attention.

Then there are the other cats who gradually become aware that hey, there's people here who loves cats and omigawd maybe there's a chance to live in an honest to goodness home instead of a shelter, and then you really get swamped by a soft, furry ocean of feline need.

I spent about an hour and a half last Sunday just petting and looking over cats. I know that's weird and extreme, but almost all my cats have lived into their late teens or early 20's. When I choose a pet, I know I'm choosing a creature that will share my life for a very, very long time so I try to pick an animal that will be compatible.

About half way into the visit I knew the cat I wanted. Have you ever seen one of those National Geographic specials where they speculate about the ancestor to the house cat? Well, she looks like one of those creatures. She looks like a cat who has been stretched. Her neck is extremely long, her head small, her eyes large, and she has very unusual markings.

She was also very, very thin and very, very scared. I have already been through nursing one very, very thin and very, very scared cat from this shelter and I wasn't sure I wanted to go through the pain of losing another cat. Plus, she hadn't been neutered, so she would have to survive the operation.

The spousal unit was not keen about this cat because, after all, we had a veritable ocean of extremely healthy, neutered cats that we could adopt right that very moment swirling around our ankles. But when she leapt up on a table so she could see me better and put one paw on each of my shoulders and gently pressed her face into mine, well, sorry, but I was a goner.

We got a call yesterday that she came through being neutered with flying colours and she'll be ready for us to pick up on Sunday. I can hardly wait. I have named her Savannah for the African grasslands where her ancestors and my ancestors roamed millennia ago.

I hope she will be able to step into the big hole left by Zoe and Norma, two cats who did an admirable job of being the boss of me. Don't get me wrong, Zubby and Enid are wonderful cats, but they simply don't exert a firm enough paw.

It will be fun seeing if this cat can fill those big boots.

--Marn

P.S.�Here are the first inductees to the 2005 Bazonga Boosters Hall o' Fame. Thank you each and every one for helping to support the Jog for the Jugs. I'm very grateful you decided to put some of your hard earned buckazoids towards this good cause.

Mileage on the Marnometer: 953.08 miles. Over half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over