
You’re not Alice…, I thought as I peered through the silver bars of the cage at a cat who clearly wasn’t Alice, the usual round, black and white resident of this particular cage. With what I’m sure was a panic-stricken look, I raced to the front desk to inquire about Alice’s whereabouts, hoping that maybe she had been adopted yet feeling a bit down that I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye. After searching the database, the guy at the front desk relieved the latter of my worries with two simple words: “window box.”
My roommate Alex and I went to the window box and soon spotted little Alice, now with two roommates of her own. As I opened the door to the cage and attempted to hold back the larger of Alice’s new roommates, I coaxed Alice to the crack of the opened cage door and couldn’t help but smile when she looked up at me with her face full of white whiskers before making the jump to quasi-freedom. Once out, she stretched her legs as she took a quick stroll of victory around the room, as if flaunting her newfound freedom in front of all of the other cats. She then casually made her way toward my feet, encircling me like a little furry shark and tickling my leg with her tail until I reached down to pick her up.
At this point, she greeted me as she does every week—an Eskimo kiss on the nose followed by an attack on my name tag. But this week, our visit was promptly interrupted by a herd of squawking children. “Kittyyyyy!” they squealed as they hurled themselves toward me and Alice. I stooped down and said “This is Alice,” reminding them to “Be gentle” as they made over her and ruffled her fur with their little hands. All the while, Alice simply enjoyed being the center of attention. Meanwhile, I was surprised to see how well Alice handled the situation—patient and loving. Now, that’s what I consider a true companion!


