Muffin, Persian, with a hint of Maine Coon. Blue-grey with yellow eyes. He surveys his strange surroundings calmly. He lets you pet him, but is not keen to be picked up. He's quiet. He is a gem among all the 'local' breed cats at the SPCA.
This morning, a middle age lady and her husband have chosen him. He is just like my old cat, she tells the pet counselors. It died over a year ago. We found him one day outside the house and kept him for 12 years, but he had breathing problems and we had to put him to sleep.
Muffin has lost his reticence and is pawing the lady affectionately. He reaches out with both paws through the bars of the cage, and places them on the sides of her face, a gesture that looks as if he is caressing a face that is very dear to him. I think he is the reincarnation of my cat, she tells me later, weaving Hindu mysticism into the lives of the cats at the shelter.
But Muffin already has somebody waiting to adopt him, and the Indian couple is placed on the waiting list. A few days later, Muffin goes to a new home, and somebody must have been disappointed.
Everybody wants a cat like Muffin, except the person who left him at the SPCA.
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