The Sunday after they arrived back home, they took a carrier up to the local humane society to see who wanted a home.  Of all the luck, 30 cat cages, 3 cats.  Not that any of my jailmates weren't purrrrfect choices for them, it was just that I was the best choice.  I was six months old and a stray, I had perfect symmetry and the most amazing bunny fur.  The girl at the shelter told them they just HAD to take me.  I did my best perfect kitty routine and purred real loud and I was homeward bound.

 

I was without a name for a few days until a friend came over and asked what those black and white clowns were called.  "Harelquins", mom replied, "We could call her Harley for short".  I approved, regal and nasty all in one.  As it turns out, Dad had a bit of Deja Vu that night.  It seems he had heard almost the same conversation 8 years before in his Dad's house.  I guess in reality, I became Harley II that night.

 

Things were not all that great at first.  I had a small (huge) attitude problem and wasn't all that cuddly.  Mom wanted more snuggle and less lip and that's where my sister India comes into the story.  I'll let her tell you her story, but I will say this, Indy taught me how to be a wonderful, snuggly cat like mom wants, and I'm still queen to everyone else.  Life is good here...