There are so many stories of who this amazing cat is in her book. Some are funny, some are scary, some bring tears. ENJOY!
This photo of her punk hair is from her first days with me. I adored her little misfit look!
The following is a small bit of BrambleBerry Rose’s story:
Her name? Well, she was a tabby tortoiseshell, dilute calico; tabby tortie calico for short; or Applejack as one person enthusiastically stated when she met our new kitty. She looked as though she’d gotten lost in a brambleberry patch and her dark-grey stripes and golden spots had become all mixed up. The fur on top of her head was spiked, not silky-soft like most kittens, and she had tufts of delicate, darker fur at the tips of her ears. It was clear: her name was not Mystère, it was Brambleberry. So, on the day she came home, as I held that ball of warm fur in the cushion of my palms, her name became Brambleberry Rose. I gave her my middle name, something I hadn’t done with any other cat.
“Do you like Brambleberry Rose for her name?”
“Not Mystère? You gave her your middle name.” Christopher‘s eyes were sparkling. “Oh, man, does that suit her! She’s so tiny and cute . . . little butterscotch baby. What will Navar and Huckleberry think?”
Huckleberry was our three-year-old sweet, sweet boy kitty. He’d meet her when he wandered into our house later. He was next door visiting his kitty friend, Anna. Those two were best buddies. And Navar, our stoic, BIG black boy, was the elder kitty of our family. Sometimes he hung out on the back porch until the squirrels went to bed. Christopher and I had watched him be protective of our little kitties for over a decade so we figured he was also protecting the squirrels who nested in our trees.
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