They called me Figaro at the Lakeland Animal Shelter.  
Not for the opera character unfortunately, but after 
Disney's silly gray cartoon cat.  And I was in the Adult 
Cat Room at four months old.  Not my fault I was big for 
my age.  It's in my genes.
	Then a lady walked in one day.  So many other cats 
swarmed up to her to get attention, I didn't have a 
chance.  But somehow she noticed me.  When she picked up 
the string with the feathers on the end, she tossed it in 
my direction.   I knew what I had to do:  I let my eyes 
follow the string to her hand.  And I attacked that!
	Then she picked me up and looked deep into my eyes.  
It was as if we recognized each other from a long, long 
time ago.  "Would you like to come home with 
me?" she whispered in my ear.  I couldn't believe my 
good luck!  I'd only been in the Cat Room two weeks, and 
already someone wanted to adopt me!  She must have signed 
my adoption papers as soon as she left me.
	It helps that I'm exotic looking, I suppose.  Even 
then I was tall and stately, with a very long plume of 
expressive tail.  My fur is of the same color and 
thickness of a Russian Blue, but very long.  I have a 
silvery delicate undercoat so soft I've been told it feels 
like angora rabbit, whatever that is.  My paws are huge, 
but deft.  I have a wide triangular high-domed head with 
very alert rounded ears and an unusually expressive face.  
My nose is different, too--there's a little more crook 
than usual between my forehead and where it starts, then 
it's short and wide, ending in charcoal-gray leather.  I 
also own a fan of very long dark silvery whiskers, matched 
by slightly forward-curling eyebrows.  My eyes are 
unusual, too:  amber with rusty and pale green highlights, 
then a definite startling green halo around the iris.  In 
pictures, my eyes often look Chartreuse green.
	A week passed.  I got nervous.  The lady came back to 
see me a couple times, and whispered promises.  She also 
brought treats for me and the other cats, but the taste of 
them soured as soon as she left.  You know how it is--when 
you want something so very much sometimes it seems like it 
will never happen.  I tried to be patient, but it was 
hard.
	One of the shelter workers took me to a strange place 
one day.  She called it a veterinarian.  I was given 
something, then passed out, and when I woke up my front 
paws and my rear end hurt.  Now I was really worried.  
What was happening to me?
	A day later I was taken out of my cage.  I couldn't 
believe it--my eyes opened so very wide when the attendant 
carried me into the reception area.  The lady was there, 
waiting to take me home with her.  She'd changed my name, 
something she worked on for days to find just the right 
one.  So now my papers read "Baron Figaro de 
Shannivere".  She wanted to call me Shanni, in honor 
of another gray cat she'd lived with and loved years ago.
	Shanni didn't suit me.  I deserved my own name, and I 
let everyone know that as soon as we got home.  The lady--
her name is Janet--introduced me to Brika and Syri, two 
black cats who live with her.  Brika sniffed me and 
hissed, warning me that even though she's the smallest, 
this is her house and she's Alpha cat.  Syri accepted me 
almost immediately.  She's very shy and quiet most of the 
time.  Both of them had been orphans, too.
	Janet and I finally agreed on the short form of my 
name--Nivere.  It took a little bit for her to get used 
to, but I answer when she calls.  Or tilt my head in that 
funny way I have to let her know I've heard.  Just goes to 
show you, the right name can do a great deal for a cat's 
attitude.
	And I grew.  A lot.
	I am very food-oriented.  I guess most orphans are.  
When I found out Janet liked to cook, I was amazed.  For a 
week I sat quietly at her feet with my tail wrapped around 
my paws, watching her prepare breakfast, lunch, dinner, 
desserts, and the specialty breads she's so good at.  I 
asked for tastes.  My favorite dishes are chicken, turkey, 
pork, and beef, but I also like Boston lettuce and red 
bell pepper.  Sometimes when Janet comes in with 
groceries, I put my head in the bag and "graze" 
on the greens.  I love the smell of carrots, but they make 
me sick.  I get "nibbles" from nearly everything 
she makes.  She laughs and says I'm spoiled.
	Janet says I have an unusual number of vocalizations, 
even for a cat.  I do everything from a silent meow to a 
full-out caterwaul, but one of my best sounds is a 
question that runs upscale for a full octave.  And Syri 
taught me to tail-talk:  the faster my tail vibrates, the 
more I have to say about things.  Syri and I keep up a 
running commentary about the details of our day when Janet 
gets home from work.
	I started having trouble breathing soon after I came 
home.  Janet took me to the vet's office many times, and I 
had to take handfuls of pills, mostly antibiotics to get 
rid of my sinus infections and something that acted almost 
like pneumonia.  I cost her a lot of money, and I feel bad 
about that.  The vets eventually took x-rays of my lungs.  
We found out I have asthma.  The vets in this area finally 
gave up trying to cure me with pills.  Janet and I had to 
go to Chicago to a place called Wag Your Tail.  A tall man 
named Mike Durkin looked deep into my eyes and said, 
"This cat wants to be well.  There's a hole in his 
immune system."  He suggested that Janet put some 
liquid drops and some chopped dry stuff in my food at each 
meal.  It keeps the infection from sticking in my 
respiratory system, so sometimes I cough it out, and other 
times I sneeze.  Janet and the other cats run or yell 
"Duck and cover!" when I start sneezing.  Goop 
flies everywhere.
	Janet calls me her "boykin", her gros 
chaton, and her "exceptional great silver guy".  
Turns out I'm not really a longhaired Russian Blue; 
instead, I'm mostly Chartreux, a breed begun by the 
Carthusian monks in Chartres, France, in the 1300s.  Janet 
says if she'd known that earlier, my title would be 
"Marquis" instead of "Baron".  She's 
got a real French theme going in her life now considering 
now there's me, her cher, and especially because her own 
family came from Evereux, Normandy a very long time ago.  
	Brika, Syri, and I have good friendships going, but 
my relationship with Janet is truly special.  She feeds, 
brushes, tickles, and pets me, and makes certain I always 
get my medicine.  In turn, I help guard the house from 
mice and voles, get her to play, keep her lap warm, and 
give her lots of unique attention that keeps her life from 
becoming too solitary when she's writing.  Sometimes we 
fall asleep to my purring on her pillow, our cheeks 
resting against each other as we both sink into our 
respective dreams.
	I love living with Janet.  I'm very happy. 

	My #3 cat is more than a bit unusual.  That's why I named 
him Baron Figaro de Shannivere.  It was a name he could grow 
into, which he promptly did.  He's tall, lean, gray, and long-
furred, with huge paws and incredible eyes.  I've always 
suspected that he's got some rare breeding in his background.  
Recently, I found out what he is.
	Serendipitous curiosity led me to page through a 
remaindered book on rare cat breeds.  I've been looking for 
Shannivere's background for as long as I've had him, which is 
four years this month.  (Happy Adoption Birthday, Shannivere!)  
So I didn't expect to find anything other than Russian Blues, 
Chartreux, and Norwegian Forest Cats.	
	But there he was, right down to the description of his 
wonderful eyes and the peculiar tilt of his head when he's 
intrigued by something.  A Niebelung.  Also called a "mist cat" 
because of the iridescence of his coat.  
	Wait a minute.  I've lived with cats since I was four, and 
I've never heard of these.  So a cross-check was necessary.  I 
found that in Desmond Morris's cat book.
	Shannivere isn't German as "Niebelung" implies.  His kind 
were bred in the United States beginning in the 1980s, a crossing 
between Russian Blues and Angoras.  No wonder he has such an 
unusual coat!  Their eyes are unique, showing molten antique and 
red gold swirls throughout, with a startling line of emerald 
around the iris.  Personality traits are listed as highly 
intelligent, affectionate, playful, easy going, inventive, highly 
intelligent, and an excellent companion.  (I put intelligent in 
there twice, because Nivere is figuring out how to open doorknobs 
by wrapping both paws around one and turning it back and forth.  
I have to keep them locked!)  Add to this a large vocabulary, and 
liking Boston lettuce and red bell pepper as an appetizer.  And 
he'll do anything for a bite of turkey.
	So why the heck was this rare monster gorgeous 
Niebelung/mist cat at the Lakeland Animal Shelter when I happened 
by?  No one knows.  
	I like to think he was waiting for me.