All of what follows is true, except for the bits that aren’t.

Magrat was not always called “Magrat”. The reason, which must be pointed out, is that many cats begin and end their lives in this universe without a name. Only cats who have owners bear names, and it is typically the owners’ responsibility to dub their feline companions with some sort of moniker.

Now Magrat, as is the wont of most cats, is very cute. But what sets her apart, as far as we are concerned, is her sweet disposition. She never hisses, never lets out a low guttural yowl, and never claws a human (unless during play, which is always an accident). This display of good behavior, having had some experience with Magrat’s feral counterparts, led us to conclude that Magrat had been under someone else’s care for a time. And that someone else had probably given Magrat a name. By what means Magrat’s previous owner and she came to be separated is unknown to us and left to speculation.

It was on a Friday afternoon during the Summer, a couple of years ago, that an adorable, scrawny, yet PREGNANT grey tabby came up to our back porch.

It was quite fortuitous then, that himself arrived home early that day, for I’m not sure what would have occurred had he come home at his usual time. He keenly observed (as was his wont, for he expresses wisdom with frequency), that despite the tabby’s scrawniness, this visitor looked ready to give birth soon.

The tabby, like most cats who want something from strangers, started dialogue.

“Hello,” she began. (For she is an intelligent creature, and intelligent creatures should always begin conversations with some sort of greeting.) “Have you need of a cat?”

“Well, I don’t know. You see, my wife has a problem with allerg…”

“Splendid! As you can see, I’m due to have my litter soon. I can use your backyard here. I won’t leave a mess, and you won’t even know I’m here!”

“Well, I…”

“Thank you so much!” She turned to leave, “This is much more convenient than the alternative! I’ll come back later when,” she winked, “you know.”

“Wait! What’s the alternative?!”

But the tabby had already sauntered off.

Some hours later, when I arrived home, with a sourpuss expression (as was my wont whilst employed with a particularly disagreeable company), himself relayed his afternoon to me.

“Pregnant, you say?!”

“With kittens!”

“Are you sure?!”

“I could tell she had a belly. But she was all skin and bones! I would not be shocked if she miscarried.”

“Oh, the poor thing.”

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully.

To be continued…