Epstein of Hot Springs Road

Happy families are all alike. Unhappy families name their cat Tonka.

I have moved from School House Road because of the family insistence that my name was Tonka. I have lit out for the territory ahead, which is to say north toward Mountain Drive, westerly toward Hot Springs Road, getting by as cats do on crumbs from the tables of the intervening residents, until I came to an overgrown yard that had as its primary virtue a number of places I could hide from predators. Until. Until a man appeared one evening, saw me in spite of my attempts to conceal myself, immediately reappeared with food, then called me Epstein.

Something was forged there.

My first pal was a cat named Sam, the man said, lowering a bowl of fresh food. Sam fancied Kitty Queen kidney which unfortunately I do not have. But I do have this. Then he called me Epstein. Eat up, Epstein, he said, then he left.

I suppose I have to consider the possibility that I am causing some anguish to those who called me Tonka, and I should go back to visit. But. Last night, after my supper, I strolled down the pathway to the garage, which is filled with books and an electric train. There is also, if I can get through the cat doors without being noticed, access to a computer. I shall become a cat of many parts, Tonka of School House Road, where I shall keep a pied a terre, and Epstein of Hot Springs Road. I like the sound of thhat.