Until recently, I sported scabs on both temples and another at the base of my nose. Yes, I was the recipient of an unprovoked altercation where apparently I was the loser. In fact, it happened so suddenly I couldn’t defend myself.

I mean, who knew torbies were a bit bi-polar?

A couple months ago I adopted feisty Tippi, a feral kitten I trapped living under a grocery store. She tamed down nicely but her chronic upper respiratory infection didn’t respond to treatment, making her unadoptable at the humane society. So now she’s mine. Or, if you ask Tippi, I’m hers.

In the short time I’ve had Tippi-toes, I’ve discovered she’s not what you’d call boring. Even so, I thought she’d be like my 3 other cats: easy-going, mellow and predictable. Let me clarify something; Tippi in no way resembles any of those adjectives. When she’s lovey-dovey, draping both arms around my neck, nuzzling me in a warm embrace, I know that tender moment can evaporate as quickly as a puddle in the desert.

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