Jelly

Out of all the cats we met at the Cattery, one immediately seized my interest – a beautiful, six-toed calico named Jelly. She had that indefinable quality, that je ne sais quois that just made me – well, want her. I was drawn to her combination of confidence and relaxation – she seemed to be the kind of cat who would be at home anywhere. She was friendly without being needy, self-possessed and inquisitive, a cat who knew her own mind.
So when we were offered a foster cat for the two weeks we were there, I didn’t hesitate. I wanted Jelly. We were travelling with our rather assertive black and white, Bacchus, and we needed a cat who could stand up to him.
Jelly definitely held her own – she wasn’t aggressive, but wasn’t about to be bullied by Bacchus. She was at ease within a couple of days, and soon was sleeping on my bed at night. Jelly was everything I had hoped for and more. I loved the way she lay on the floor with her back legs sticking out, her adorably plump body spread out on the carpet. I loved her hoarse voice, her habit of responding to human speech as if it was a real conversation, and her affectionate, laid back personality. I even loved her watery eye, which seemed to mirror my own allergies. She soon had her “spot” on the couch, regally presiding over the house like a reigning queen, completing the room in the way only a cat can.
When it was time to leave, I could hardly bear to part with her – we had weeks of travel ahead of us, so taking her home wasn’t possible. (Also, I’m allergic to cats – my allergist told me not to get another one.) For Jelly, though, I swear I would have made an exception. 
I missed her the minute we returned her to the Cattery. I miss her still. I’ve known a lot of cats, but Jelly is special. I envy the lucky family who adopts her.

Carol Bugge, Gotham Writer