When I was a teenager and lived with my dad and my grandmother, it wasn’t uncommon for me to bring pets home. My grandma really didn’t want a cat. But I brought some stray cats home anyway and then had to give them up when she said no. But there was one cat I got to keep and I’ll never know why.

Rusty was an orange tiger cat and the night I brought him home, I put him in my dad’s room. I was trying to keep him hidden from my grandma. The dog always slept in my room, and I didn’t want to lock them in together on the first night. In the middle of the night, my dad let the crying cat out of his room.

The next day, my grandma said to me “ How long have you had that cat for?”
My answer was “What cat?”

Oh my gosh, I didn’t even know that she knew and that was the first thing that came to mind.

“The one that was crawling around on my head in the middle of the night”, she said.

Oh no, now what?

When my dad got home from work, I told him about our conversation. He put his hand to his mouth to hide his laughter.

I don’t remember anything else about this, except that Rusty became a part of the family.