Precious died, and I never thought that I would recover
from her death, though six weeks later nearly to the day, there
was a story on the front page of the newspaper. A RSPCA worker was
pictured with eight, six week old kittens, the headline, "If I
don't get a home, I will die today". I looked at the picture and
immediately saw my "Precious", slap bang in the middle. I finished
work, I was on night shift, got in my car and drove thirty
something kilometres to be there when the RSPCA opened, because I
was not letting her die again.
I asked at the front desk where the kittens were that were
pictured and they pointed me to the cage down the back where I
could find them. I went to the cage, and immediately this little
tabby kitten came running over to the wire, climbed the dizzy
heights to my face level and meowed mourningfully at me. As soon
as I poked my finger through the wire and patted his little head,
I knew, it was "Precious" reincarnated.
To cut a long story short, I took the kitten home, his name
is BRO, and he is curled up here beside me as I write. He is
nearly ten years old now, though he has been the best cat that we
have ever owned. Everytime I look into his face I still see
Precious. I know that she is in there somewhere.