Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • In April, we lost the cat. In June, we lost the dog. This left our remaining family struck with grief. Summer became mourning. And I still cry every day.

    In July, we decided that the house was too empty, too quiet. We contacted a cat shelter, and made an appointment. Our old cat never liked our son Folke very much. The day we brought Folke home, the cat stared in disbelief and contempt, and it never really got much better. Unfortunately for Folke, his love of cats was great, and it was sad to see his patience, and increasing skills, that never paid off.

    When we were going to get a new cat, Folke would get to make the decision about which one. Someone who liked him.

    At the shelter, it was dificult for Folke. I mean, we didn't prepare him for the sight of oodles of imprisoned cats and kittens. In the final room, one of two where the cats were fully house-ready, we met Eleonora.

    When she sat in his lap, it was the first time ever Folke had had a cat sit in his lap. She was the one.

    She came with a companion: Bror. A small, ginger tough guy. Her patron, karate teacher and father figure. We didn't need to look any further. The shelter changed Bror and Eleonoras status to: "booked", in red pen, on their identification signs.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.