Things in Erin’s Brain 


If you follow me on the Instagram thingy, you’ve seen the posts. The stories. My music choices have nearly won me awards for my reels (think Tom Jones, the Pink Panther, and the Stray Cat Strut). Plus, the cat is a pretty Tortie with striking green eyes so pictures of her are pretty fantastic (and her tongue sticks out sometimes…)

Why #NotMyCat ?

Because she’s (not) my cat.

The subject feline has been prowling around my house for years. She’d stop by for snacks, but promptly went home (or to the next house, for the next snack – I envision her like the Tramp in “Lady and Tramp,” with a different name and a different snack at every door). Sometimes we wouldn’t see her for weeks, then she’d appear silently, like a shadow, just glowing green eyes peering through our patio door, like an alien, scaring a bejeezus out of me.

Then one day she hung out. She had her snack and went to rest on the lawn, in the shade. 


She started coming over more frequently for food. We fed her.


One night I noticed she hadn’t left at all…


I started with the Instagram pictures and posts and reels. It was funny. This silly kitty who just hung out in my backyard. Who wanted to snack and felt safe enough to bathe and rest, but didn’t like us to touch her.

But my heart knew something was up. I felt that needling, itchy feeling in my core that just knew… I called her dad. He didn’t answer. He didn’t call back. Jerry walked three houses down and knocked on his door. No answer. A few days later we tried again.

All the while #NotMyCat chilled at our house. Eating her snacks and meals, taking refuge from the summer heat in shady spots around the yard. Driving my geriatric kitty Cecilia out of her mind from the opposite side of the window.

The concern for our neighbor intensified. Jerry and I knocked on more doors. We learned #NotMyCat’s daddy was in the hospital and they were preparing to transfer him to hospice. 

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe she just knew. But #NotMyCat opened our sliding screen door and walked into our house. I visited her dad in the hospital and again in hospice. I don’t know if he recognized me or understood my words, but I told him we’d look after his girl. 

At the end of July, Bumper became #MyCat. This ten year old Tortie got a clean bill of health from our vet. She is learning about toys and 24-7 AC. She is now offering us snuggles with her full body, complete with purrs and head bumps (her daddy named her Bumper for a reason).

Because it’s all about love…