My grandmother lives on a farm in Nova Scotia. Her collection of living animals over the years has been eclectic, found somewhere nearby or on the farm as they nearly always are. In the days of the place being a poultry farm it was also home to a maple syrup-drinking horse with a mean streak and a swift bite. When I was younger, there were two cats named Samantha and Tabby that my brother and I would lock in our shared bedroom so they'd have to hang with us while we read comic books. There was also a dog named Rachel that we weren't supposed to touch. Then there was Jenny, a long-lived black lab and the perfect exuberant farm dog. Now there is the black cat, a few strays, a dog named April that was found at the roadside and has gained quite a bit of weight in its new home, and Kitty, an orange (or used-to-be orange) cat.
Kitty has no teeth (or maybe one tooth?) and can't hold her tongue in her mouth. It's hard to tell from the pictures, but she's also really, really small. My grandmother told me that she is a miniature cat and asked me if I've ever heard of that before. Now I have. Regardless of the drool, dust, and dander that makes Kitty who she is I've always thought she's pretty special. I'm not even sure that it's a girl. A photo I took this spring of Kitty has been featured on dreamcats. Check it out!
And finally, Vancouver's own: 