I answered a long running ad in the Bellingham Herald regarding a large short-tailed cat found near Mt. Baker. It was in the late winter/early spring time that I saw this ad repeatedly until I could take it no longer. I called to ask if someone had finally come to claim the cat. The answer was no so I told the man on the other end of the line that my husband and I would come to get the cat if it was all right with him.

We drove for miles and miles, probably 30 or more, until we got close to Mt. Baker. When we arrived, I fell instantly in love with the boy. He was a very large brown classic tabby with a tail about 5 to 6 inches long. It was completely fused ani had a knot on the end of it. His legs were extremely long, as was his body. His head was enormous, it was his most intriguing physical trait. Bill and I were happy to take him off the man's hands and promptly went to my mother's house, where the children were. She told me that I couldn't take that cat home. Nobody tells me what to do...but...she did make sense when she said that he was too large of a cat to have around kids when I didn't even know what his temperament was. Actually, I think now that she just fell in love with him, too. He was quite an impressive fellow!

So, we left him there, to be an outside/inside cat for Mom. She took him to the vet for a check-up shortly after getting him because he had been starving. He weighed 17 pounds in this skinny state. She named him Keba and loved him dearly.

Keba ran the neighborhood, literally. Be chased away every cat that wasn't attached to a house and wasn't very nice about it. We used to be amazed at his fighting technique: he would turn his head (only) completely upside down before a attack and was really quite vicious when fighting. We had never seen anything like him before.

Keba lived happily as king of the neighborhood for months doing his own thing until he got caught. A neighbor lady knocked on Morn's door one day to tell her that she was now the happy owner of three kittens, since it was Mom's cat that had gotten her female pregnant. Reluctantly, Mom sent me over to get the litter. But my mouth dropped open when I first saw the mother of the kittens. What in the world was she? She looked so wild!! Her coat stood up off her body in a way I had never seen on a cat before. It was a light fawn color with muted brown spots all over. She was small with a very short tail, as well. You have to believe me when I say that it was her face that absolutely threw me...I just had never seen anything so darn pretty. She was a wild looking thing all right!! And that is just what they said: she was found in a barn in Everson, not too far north and east of Bellingham, maybe 20 miles, again, closer to Mt. Baker. The geography is lowland farming areas and rolling hills that start building toward "the dike", the foothills of the Cascades.

I could hear the mister of the house in the other room, cussing up a storm because of those damn cats. I asked the lady if he wanted to get rid of the mother too, and she, with tears in her eyes, said yes. I took them all, Maggie and 3 kittens, 2 boys and a girl. The boys had naturally short tails, one being basically a riser, (a very short immovable stump) and the other had a longer nice stumpy tail, maybe an inch longer at 6 weeks of age. They both had the same marvelous coat that Maggie had and lovely, lovely faces. Then there was the female: a very long tail graced her body that was covered in the same incredible ticked, fawn colored coat. It also stood up off her body, like her mother and brothers. Again, it was her face that really sent me! She was so unreal looking that I thought of something that was also not real...a Pixie. She just somehow reminded me of what one might look like, kind of. I don't know, it's hard to explain. But I knew that's who she would be: Pixie.

I foolishly found homes for the boys (oh, if I had only kept them! How could I have known?) for $35.00 each but would never consider letting go of Pixie. Lots of people wanted her but no way. She and her mother stayed together and loved each other for nearly a year, until the lady asked for Maggie back. (Reluctantly, I returned her, but not before she had another litter by Sasha.)

At this time in our lives, we were traveling back and forth to Alaska yearly regarding Bill's job with the Forest Service. The kids, cats, dogs, etc., were all packed up each May when we drove through Canada to catch the ferry to Ketchikan. Then we flew by float plane to remote islands where we stayed usually until October or November, when it got too cold to work. Sometimes we stayed the entire winter.

The most interesting thing about our stay is that we had to build our own shelter on each trip. We lived in the wilds with the wolves, bear and deer and were very content to exist in such a primitive situation. I only tell you this to let you know how Pixie was raised. She ran free with the other animals, with dense forest on all sides of our little ('visqueen palace", as we called these shelters. I never really thought to fear for the cats, though eagles were plentiful there, because everyone stayed pretty close to home. Pixie's favorite pastime was laying down with Stormy, our daughter, sucking her ear lobe. But Pixie never really cared too much for me.

As it turned out, my admiration of Pixie was not returned in kind. I could just sit all day and watch her incredibly wild face, loving her for the beauty she brought into my life. Does that sound so strange? I have always been a great admirer of good art. She was the best! She really was extraordinary, to say the least.

But in March of 1987, we left Alaska for good, taking with us the problem that we had created: the animals were used to running free and didn't take kindly to the idea of being restrained in any manner. In fact, Pixie quite rejected the notion that she was going to be a house cat. I had so much trouble with her that I lost her several times. Bill remembers the long hours when I would sit alone in the dark, freezing winter nights, with a string in my hand that was attached to a heavy wooden box, propped up by a stick, (crude and primitive, I must admit). Although it had food in it to entice Pixie back home, I never did catch her that way, regardless of how long she was gone or how hungry she might be It must have looked like I had lost my mind. I lost her and caught her 3 different times. But when she was 7 years old and due with a litter at any moment, Pixie got away one last time, The dog had opened the door while we were gone, it hadn't been latched tight. When we came home, all the cats were sitting by the door, just looking outside, as if it was a strange, scary world out there. (it is!) But Pixie was not afraid of anything; No dog, nothing. Certainly not the great outdoors! I called and called but it was in vain. She could have been 2 feet from me in the hushes and I would not have known. I called daily and nightly for over 3 weeks. I prayed for her safe return but it was not to be. I once heard kittens in a slash pile but each time I came near, they would quiet so that I would not know where to begin looking in all those logs and branches I lost faith and hope and I never saw her again.

One year later, however, we did catch one of the kittens, an exact clone again and we named him Pixer. He, too, ended in disaster, but that is another story.

Before she disappeared the last time she gave to the program her name, and several daughters; Monster out of Battu, (her half-brother by Maggie and Lucy, Lioness and Bobby-Jo "the 3 sisters"), out of Jamaica, a black manx (the only one in the program) Pixer contributed to one litter, as well. And his father was Samson.

Pixie can never be replaced. I can try to imitate her looks forever but there is only one Pixie. That is why I have never named any other cat after her. It is almost sacrilegious to me. I want us all to remember how she looked and that the Pixie- Bob should look like her, A "Pixie-Bob" without Pixie? I think not!

(Keba also ran off, he broke right through the wire of a pen the first time tried to breed him at my house. I lived, at that time, not far from Mt. Baker. I f it most amazing that Keba, loose in the woods for the first time in 3 years, began heading for the mountain. We could hear him call and call as he got further away. Neighbors saw him, all reported that he was going in the same direction, toward the mountain. We never saw Keba again, but I think it to be quite fitting and almost romantic that he went back to the area from -which he came.)