In May, 2000, I was working at a pizza delivery restaurant. One night, there was a cat outside that had never been there before. She was starving and both the pizza employees and the bar patrons next door were feeding her bits of meat. No one, however, could take her home. So I did. I named her Mercy, because that was what she was given. She was already an adult, half-declawed and 'fixed,' so the only reason I can think that the previous owner dumped her there was because she was a loud talker. Constantly. Even when she was eating.

For the next nearly eleven years, she was a lot of company, as my grandmother said. A source of comfort and joy, amusement and an awful lot of love.

William W.