Oh Heart, dear Heart
How still thou art
When should you choose to leave
The beat, no will
The tremble, still
And onst thou we bereave
My first little cat, the illustrious Magnum Opus, reached out his tiny paw from his cage at the SPCA in Montreal, and grabbed my jacket. I guess you could say he chose me. A little beige kitten, he was the cutest creature I had ever seen. I was looking for a cat to call my own. The year was 1985, and I was 23 years old. I had just visited my relatives in England, and gone to see the play "Cats" in London. It was a sign. I came home and immediately started looking for a feline companion. Having only had mice, fish, a lizard and a toad as pets when I was a child, he would be my first big responsibility as an adult pet owner. He would need a litter box, food, a bed, and lots of attention. I was ready. I bought him for a grand total of $25. And that included bringing him back to be neutered when he was six months old. I can't remember if that was a lot of money at the time. But today, that won't even buy a bag of high end cat food. I took Mag