Happy birthday, dear Harry!

“A model of excellence or perfection” – how fitting: the word “paragon” is today’s word in A.Word.A.Day (words@wordsmith.org). Today is also Harry Summers’ seventh birthday.

As indicated in earlier posts – probably last year at this time! – Harry was our first ever cat, nearly seven years ago. Because we were so taken with the tiny, shy orange fluff ball, we converted wholly and happily to cats. (Before long, Billy Summers joined the family, but that’s another story, probably re-told every February 3).

Harry was a “rescue cat,” probably twice, although his exact birthplace was hazy in the telling by Deb, the woman who advertised Harry on Petfinder. Maybe somewhere in Hamilton, maybe in her own backyard – it was never clear.

What was clear: he was adorable. And very, very shy of people, giving us the idea he may have been a feral kitten. Whenever we visited him that summer, on the screen porch in Trenton, he got as far from us as he could. The other cats there were fine with people; not Harry.

Deb even suggested bringing Harry into her house for an extra week, to socialize him more. That was a good idea, although once he came home with us, he was still elusive for awhile.

And, until the first vet appointment, Harry was also still a girl, or so we all thought. The vet’s disclosure – that “Orangina” wouldn’t work for a name because we had a male orange tabby kitten – caused us to re-name our new kid.

“Orangina, “Harry,” the sex and name make no diff – we love him! Happy birthday, grown up pussycat, regal Harry!
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