To tell the story of Fred, I must also tell you the story of Penelope. Princess Penelope, as we fondly refer to her.

My husband and I are cat people. We love dogs, but not enough to have one. We love other people’s dogs.

I believe that most people are either primarily cat people, or primarily dog people. You can argue the point with me, but it will be hard to change my mind. Yes, I know there are millions of people who have both dogs and cats in their lives, but I tend to think we associate with one more than the other.

Penelope’s story in our life actually begins more than 20 years before she was even born, so Fred’s story has an extra prequel. A tiny grey kitten, half Russian Blue, half Siamese stole my heart and gained the name Bob, his soft purrs making him standout with his other brothers and sisters in the cage at the Companions Animal Center, (formerly Kootenai Humane Society).

 Bob blessed me with nearly 18 years of joy before we had to say goodbye, and for a long time I felt empty without him. I missed his constant presence and his mental ownership of every square inch of our home. I still miss him today.

I wanted another cat so badly after Bob was gone that my husband would make sure that we walked a block out of our way in our Philadelphia neighborhood to keep me from stopping at the pet store window to gaze longingly at the cats looking for a home.

He reminded me that we traveled too much, and although Bob had been quite used to it (perhaps even thankful for it from time to time), it was unfair to bring a new member into our home just to fly off again.

He was right, of course, but it didn’t take away my want.

Then a little thing called a global pandemic came along and we received a call from a friend who volunteered with a local cat rescue and cat café. The café had to close when the city went on lockdown, and they were frantically searching for foster families. She had been trying to get us to consider fostering or adopting since we had met her nearly a year earlier, and my husband had helped me to remain steadfast. Until that day.

When I told him about Joyce’s call, he looked at me and said, “You planned this.” “Yes,” I replied. “I planned a global pandemic in order to get a cat. I am that determined.”

Penelope showed up the next day, and within an hour we were considered “foster failures.” There was no way either one of us would let her go. And she clearly had no intention of leaving either.

When you adopt a street cat, you have to agree to a few rules. You won’t get them declawed, you won’t abandon them, and you won’t let them outside.

That last one is the tough one.

At first, Penelope had no problem staying inside. She had been rescued only a few weeks before, and other than when she had been captured as a TNR (trapped, neutered, and released), she lived her life outside. If you’ve ever seen her hunt, however, you’d agree that she probably spent quite a lot of time hungry. To say that she is a poor hunter is quite an understatement.

Apparently, she had convinced the owners of a hair salon to feed her for a long time. What she lacks in hunting skills, she more than makes up with her Puss in Boots eyes that draw you in. But eventually they realized she needed a home instead of a meal, which is when she was rescued and prepared for adoption.

Living with us meant food all the time and soft places to sleep and two humans that were at her beck and call. In the beginning she barely even glanced outside.

After a few months, however, she spent more and more time gazing sadly out the windows until we allowed her out with us in the back patio. She stayed close and never left our small city space. Until she did.

From that point on, despite our promises otherwise, we let her go on a walkabout every day.

One of Penelope’s favorite activities was going to visit the other cats in the neighborhood. Especially the ones that weren’t allowed outside. She enjoyed sitting at their doors and windows, taunting the cats inside.

I was constantly getting pictures of her exploits from my neighbors, with her on one side of a window and their cats, looking sad and frustrated, on the other. One handsome boy in particular, named Sunday, was her favorite neighbor to torment. Sunday’s mom would always know when Penelope would show up for a visit because Sunday would start to wail.