[ Inheritance ]*

When you buy a house that is 81 years old like we did, you assume that you will inherit a few surprises.  Like the huge package of antique wallpaper that I found in the guest bedroom, the french laundry powder hidden in closet, and the tomato garden that I uncovered in the side yard last week.  Major scores! (And, in regards to the tomato garden, don't judge me--It had been a little too long since I had pulled weeds.)

There was also a caricature of the previous owner's ex-husband in the basement; Not as exciting.

But the most unusual thing that came with the house (that was not mentioned at the closing) was definitely this:

We don't know her real name.  (Actually, I just realized that we don't even know if she is a she--I never even questioned that . . or checked.) But we had to call her something and since she is skin and bones, her name was not real hard to decide on.

So from day one, we've called her Hungry.

And as far as cats go, Hungry is pretty darn cool.  And she might just be our ticket to celebrity in this small town that we now call home.  You know how every town has that "those people"? Like the man who waters the lawn in his underpants?  Yep, that role has already been filled by a neighbor of ours that I caught a glimpse of one night as I walked to my car.  I felt like I had walked in on someone changing.  Not quite as bad as showing your bare butt, but still . . .

But there is another niche that has not been filled, and Hungry is helping the town fill it.

You see, Hungry goes walking/ running with us just like a dog. I've actually even noticed that she even avoids reflective puddles.  My theory is that she can't face the truth of her cat-ness. (First sentence=truth; Second & third sentences=total lies for entertainment purposes.)

Anyways, at night when we go walking through downtown, Hungry stays right in line behind us, yelping the whole way.