How "Queen Elizabeth" came to stay at our house.

I already had four cats the day my kitty-sitter, Donna, called me from her Pet Store, almost in tears. "Three ladies just came in here," she said. "They brought this dear little orange kitty and half a bag of cheap cat food, and plunked them down on the counter." The youngest woman was pregnant, but she never spoke. The other two, my friend later figured, were probably the grandmas-to-be.

The oldest, dressed very severely--this is Mennonite Country--said, "Cats smother babies. So here; take her." And with that they just walked out of the store. Donna grabbed the kitty as they walked out the door; a busy thoroughfare rruns just outside, and the cat, after a puzzled look at Donna, seemed ready to follow.

Donna had fish and birds in her store, but no kittens or puppies, so at first she wasn't sure exactly what to do, as she ran the store by herself. She did, however, sell ferret cages, and into one of these she put the kitty. Next she called me.

As far as those ladies were concerned, Donna obviously had "sucker" written on her forehead, but so do I, especially when it comes to cats.

I knew her husband had given her an ultimatum: no more pets! We were pretty much in the same boat there, but I had more wiggle room. I only had four cats. She had a couple of sheep, a gray parrot of great age and rude demeanor, finches, two cats, two mid-sized dogs, tropical fish and the store. (Not to mention three large, athletic teen-age sons.)

Of course, I went up to the store and visited with the new arrival, now stashed in the ferret cage. She was round faced, like a kitten, about five months old, tiny, and brilliantly orange. She was extremely cuddly and soft, and--like so many abandoned females--slightly pregnant.

My husband relented and allowed me to bring her home "for a few days" to see how she'd get along with the others. The first nights she was there, she burrowed under the covers next to my husband, and leaned against him purring gently all night. As he is -- his grim Sea Captain orders aside, a fanatic cat person--her strategy worked. She was allowed to stay, after being packed off for a short stay with our vet. Medical opinion was that she was far too small to deliver safely.

As for the other cats, they stood back and let her eat what she wanted and sleep wherever she wished. If they didn't, she let them know that not only in technical terms, but in reality-- she was a Queen Cat. At only 1/3 their size, she became an official member of our cat family.

I named her "Elizabeth" after the legendary English ruler, who was also proud, guileful, quick to anger and red-headed. She keeps most of her bargain: she lap sits every evening, and burrows under the covers--on my side of the bed--at night.

"Lizzie," (as, of course, the name has morphed,) has grown into a perfect little ball of orange fluff perched on four short legs. She's very soft. I suspect there might be some Persian behind all that fur, and that still-a-kitten round baby face.