I was relieved when we dropped the cat off at the vet's office. It was bad enough having to share the car with the beast. He rode the entire way cuddled on Jessie's lap, being petted and fussed over. It was disgusting. Instead of enjoying the ride with my head out the window, I had to try to balance on my hind legs so I could watch him over the seat back. Have you any idea how embarrassing it is to be thrown to the floor board during a turn?

When we got home, imagine my astonishment when they simply let me in the house, shut the door, and left again without me. I don't really like being alone, unless there’s something interesting and off limits that I want to investigate. I went back to the chair corner to sulk and contemplate how little I seemed to be appreciated lately.

I felt a bit more hopeful when they returned, since they were carrying plastic shopping bags. I followed them into the kitchen to supervise the unloading, and see what goodies they might have brought home. It was an odd assortment they unpacked.

There was a large, shallow plastic pan. I didn’t like the looks of it. It looked like the sort of thing one might bathe a dog in. They had a box that looked like laundry soap, but there was a picture of a smiling cat on its side. Another feline grinned at me from what was obviously a bag of kibble. When I tried to investigate it, I was shooed away, but not before I got a distinct whiff of... fish. I was really puzzled now. They’d bought me beef, liver, liver and bacon, chicken, and lamb and rice food, but never fish.

There was also another food dish. I finally had to admit what I’d been dreading. I wasn't rid of that park dwelling interloper. They intended to bring him home from the vet, and getting his own dish meant he was staying.

I fell into a blue funk, refusing to cheer up even when Jacob scratched that spot on my chest that makes my left hind leg thump uncontrollably. I went out to the laundry room and devoured every bit of kibble in my bowl. I always eat when I'm depressed. Or angry. Or happy. Come to think of it, I always eat... Never mind.

As I was crunching down the last nugget, I felt a cool breeze. Cool breezes are very pleasant, but this one shouldn't have been there. The laundry room outside door was firmly shut, and locked, as always. My pet door has an insulating strip around the flap, so it wasn't air conditioning from the kitchen. Besides, I could smell the outdoors on the thin ribbon of cool air that washed over my feet; grass, earth, and leaves. There was nothing in the direction it was coming from except the washer and dryer, both against the far wall. I walked from one side of the appliances to the other, studying them. They weren't right against the wall. There was a couple of inches of space behind them to allow for water and electricity connections. The Grimaldis had gotten a new washer just last week. The workman who had installed had enlarged the hole through the wall to admit a larger size pipe. He hadn't done a very good job of sealing the hole around the new pipe, just stuffing the sides with cloth, and now it had fallen out. The wind was coming through the gap. I hoped Dad would find it and fix it soon. Otherwise it was going to be very chilly out here during the winter.

I was so downhearted that night that I could barely manage the pork chop bone Jacob gave me, but I forced myself. I didn't want to seem ungrateful. That night I had an awful dream about a black and white mountain lion stalking me through the house. In another, I had to watch as the family fed the cat from the park platters of juicy steaks, bags of hamburgers, and sacks of cookies while I stood there, ribs sticking out, in the last stages of starvation. I awoke ravenous. Actually, that was typical.

Even a saucer of biscuit crumbs with a spoonful of Dad's wonderful sausage-gravy didn't lift my mood, though. Normally I'd have been over the moon with happiness at such a treat, but I just couldn’t put my heart into enjoying it. I took so long, stopping to gaze off into space and sigh, that at last Dad asked, "What's wrong with you, hound? Are you sick? Maybe we should bring you in for a checkup when we go get the cat." No, not a vet trip! I quickly finished up the food and trotted busily to and fro a few times, tail wagging furiously, to demonstrate my good health. It must have worked, because there was no more mention of taking me to the vet's.

When you're waiting for something unpleasant to happen, either time speeds by, or it seems to s-t-r-e-t-c-h out. In my case, the rest of the day dragged. Mom was going to pick up the cat at the veterinarian's office on her way home from work. I had hoped that Mom would veto the cat nonsense, but my luck stayed bad. She had gotten a misty, dreamy look and mentioned a cat she’d had when she was a little girl. Terrific. The last person I had looked to as an ally turned out to be a secret cat dependant.

Usually I'm happy to hear the car turning into the driveway. I always let my people know that I've missed them by performing a Dance of Welcome and administering ankle licks whenever possible. But today I stayed under the dining table while the rest of the family piled into the front hall to greet her... and the cat.

They came into the kitchen, Jacob lugging a plastic pet taxi, much like the one I have for traveling. It's a plastic box with a handle on top, and a hole in the side that's covered by a little barred door.

"Set it down, Jacob," instructed Dad. "You two don't grab him up right away. He needs a little time to adjust to his new home. And to make friends with Inga."

Friends?! He had to be joking. How could I possibly be friends with such a scruffy, scrubby... Jacob opened the barred door, and the cat stepped out.

I blinked in astonishment. Was this the same cat? I took a few steps closer, cautiously, studying him. The markings were the same, black and white, with a bandit's hood. The eyes were the same, green-yellow and huge. But before the fur had been dull and dusty, full of burrs and matted into clumps. Now it... it gleamed. The white was snowy, and the black was as shiny as my own coat. It fluffed about him in soft, silky strands. As he walked toward me, I noticed that the pads of his feet were as pink as his nose. How could an animal that had lived outside have such delicate, elegant feet? I’d lived inside all my life, and my pads were rough and black.

He sat down about a yard away from me, curling his tail neatly around himself, and regarded me silently. There was no fear in his eyes. None in his smell, either. That surprised and irritated me. He had no business not being afraid of me. But instead of showing decent terror, or at least apprehension, he had the nerve to sit there blinking, looking mildly curious.

I could feel the hair on the back of my neck starting to stand up. I don't often get really angry, but I'd had enough. It was time to tell this intruder exactly where he stood in the scheme of things.

I peeled my lips back to give him a good look at my teeth, and made my voice as deep and threatening as possible. "Look, Cat. I don't want you here. My family must be suffering from some sort of feline induced insanity to take you in the first place. I'm sure they'll come to their senses in time. Till then, remember that this is my house, my family, my food, my chew toys. I'm sure you get the idea. Understand?"

"Is your nose okay?" His voice was high pitched and musical. The question and the voice took me aback for a moment. I'd been thinking of him as a full grown cat, but he was a kitten, really. Couldn't be quite half grown.

I'd expected belligerence or craven submission. I wasn't ready for a polite inquiry after my well being. The rumbling died down in my throat, and my hackles lowered as I considered the question. After a moment he said. "You know, where I scratched you?"

"I'm not likely to forget that!" I snapped. "They managed to stop the bleeding. I shall most likely be scarred for life, though."

"Really?" He looked surprised. I froze in shock when he strolled over and put his face right up to mine, studying my nose. "Don't worry. I can barely see it. Couple of days, you'll never know it was there."

I backed up quickly. Unfortunately there was a table leg behind me. I bumped into it, and ended up sitting awkwardly. This made Jessie and Jacob giggle, and I even saw Mom and Dad suppressing smiles. My pride was hurt, my dignity offended, and my precious sanctuary invaded. It was too much too bear.

With a snarl I leaped at the cat, intent on biting off most of that silky fur. But... I don't know how he did it. I still don't know how he does it. He more or less levitated to the top of the refrigerator and crouched there. I charged, barking furiously, but Dad caught me. I suffered the pain and humiliation of a slap on the rump. "Inga! Stop that, calm down."

"Bad Inga!" cried Jessie. I drooped in defeat. If even little Jessie was against me, what hope did I have?

Mom sighed, and said gently, "No, honey. Inga's not bad. She's just jealous of the kitty. We're making such a fuss over him, that she feels like we don't love her anymore. We'll have to be sure to show her that she's still important to us."

"That's silly. Silly dog," she stretched up to pet me. "You're my Inga. I love you forever and ever."

I felt a little better, and tossed a smug look at the cat. Dad set me down, watching me closely to be sure I wasn't going to attack again. Not a chance. I'd wasted enough energy. I'd decided that the best policy was to ignore the beast as much as possible.

"What are we going to name him?" Mom asked. "We can't just call him kitty forever. Well, we could, but it's more fun to give him a proper name."

Jessie wanted to call him Oreo, because he was black and white. Dad wanted to call him McCavity, after a mystery cat in T.S. Elliot's book of poems, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. Interested in spite of myself, I called up to him, "Hey cat, what's your name?"

He was lying comfortably, paws dangling over the edge of the refrigerator. "I don't know. I don't think I have one."

"What do people call you?"

"Mostly Cat." He thought. "The man who used to chase me away from the hot dog stand always called me..." And then he said a Very Bad Word. I knew it was a Very Bad Word because once someone said it in a video the family was watching. Dad turned it off right away, and Mom scolded him for not paying closer attention to the movie he brought home. It's too bad the humans don't understand most animal language. Mom might have thrown him out.

Jacob had left the room, but now he came back, paging through a book. "We're studying how people's names mean different things. Let's give him a name that fits him."

The family agreed, and they ran down the list of names in the book. It was decided that he had too much black to be called Alban, which means 'white', and too much white to be called Duncan, which means 'dark skinned'. They finally settled on Simon, which was Greek for 'snub nosed'. His face did look a little pushed in, in my opinion. Dad said that there must be a Persian somewhere in his background.

I couldn't wait to tell him. "Hey cat, you have a name now."

"Oh? Good. What is it?"

"It's Simon. That means 'snub nosed'. Pretty accurate. You have a face like a Pekinese that ran into a wall face first." This was an exaggeration, but he needed to be taken down a peg.

He didn't seem upset. "So what's your name?"

I puffed my chest out proudly. "It's a fine old German name. Inga: that means 'meadow'."

"So what they're saying is you're out to pasture, right?"

Outrage! He looked innocent, but I knew he was trying to anger me. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I made my voice haughty. "That's Miss Inga to you, feline!"

"Whatever you say, Miss Cow Lot." I could scarcely breath with indignation, but I preserved my dignity. I turned my back, lowered the temperature in the room with my icy disdain, and proceeded to ignore him.

I couldn't ignore what was going on around me for too long, though. I couldn't afford to be ignorant of the changes being made in the household if I was going to deal with Simon effectively. When the family carried their purchases out to the laundry room, I had to tag along.

The food dish was placed on the far side of the room from my own, with the water dish near the back door. The mysterious plastic pan was set just inside the open storage closet by the drier. Then they poured what looked like sand from the big box they'd bought into the pan. I went over and sniffed it, wondering if they were planning on planting some seedlings.

Simon had followed us in, and watched the actions with interest. My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked him "Do you know what that's for?"

"Oh, indeed I do!" He hopped nimbly into the pan and sniffed the entire inside carefully. Settling on a spot, he began to dig at the sand industriously.

"Are you going to bury something?" I myself had buried several bones and a squeaky toy.

"Sure. You can't leave your Business just laying around. That would be unsanitary."

"Your Business?" Horrified understanding dawned on me. He was going to do his Business inside, on purpose.

"Let's leave," Mom said. "We should give him a little privacy. You too, Inga."

I should hope so. I had no desire at all to watch such an uncouth act. Inside. Why, if I'd done such a thing without the excuse of being left inside for too long, it would have meant a scolding and being in Disgrace. Simon was being encouraged. And the more I thought about it, the less I liked it.

I had to go outside to do my Business, no matter what the weather. Blazing hot sun? Out of the nice cool air conditioning, Inga, and do your Business. Rain? So I got a little wet. Then I had to put up with the 'wet dog smell' comments, when I hadn't wanted to go out in the first place. The only time I got to stay in was when there was a lot of snow outside. Then they laid down papers in the laundry room, but I certainly didn't have special facilities provided like some people.

I was so upset by the inequality, that when Simon came out, I went back to the laundry room myself, and did my Business right next to his box. I did it, of course, to indicate the unfairness of the situation. I succeeded in getting a scolding and being pushed out to the backyard to contemplate my mischief.