Childhood cats remembered.

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I grew up in a small village, at a time when people made very little money. There were no cans or packages of cat food, only scraps from the table, unless, like my cat, you were lucky enough to have someone catch fish for you. My first cat was a grey male, whom we very inventively called Tom. There was no kitty litter either, so the cat was outside at night. There was shelter though, so it wasn't as bad as we might think. I remember that mom would search the house to make sure that the cat was outside before going to bed. Tom was smart though, and sometimes would outfox her. On more then one occasion I awoke during the night, to find him, snuggled under the covers, head on the pillow and one paw around my neck. I would simply smile and go back to sleep. He left home one time when I was about 10 years old and never returned. I heard that someone had shot him. A little later I got a black cat, and maybe you can guess guess her name! Blacky was like a fixture around the house for the next 8 or so years. Unlike Tom, she never strayed from home. During the summer I would spent hours catching little fish for her. I left home just short of my eighteen birthday, and about 2 months later, mom wrote that Blacky had died. She was to be the last cat in my life for many years.