I was on a mission.
Two cats for two kids, ages 5 and 8.
It was a few weeks before Christmas, work was crazy busy and I hadn't even started shopping.
I dropped into the local animal shelter, unprepared for the emotional impact of so many tiny, fluffy creatures when I would only be taking two with me.
I took a lap of the room — filled with cages — and Snowy stood out for me straight away. She was alone in her cage, a little grey kitten with white and ginger, a loner which should have alerted me to her nature.
I chose the other kitten from a litter of identical ginger kittens, though he stood out as the one jumping up down and pouncing on his siblings.
I picked them up on Christmas Eve and hid them next door for a surprise Christmas morning gift. The male kitten went to my son and he named the ginger fluffball Milo. My daughter named her kitten Snowy. Not very original, but hey, she was 5!
The thing that I will remember the most is that Snowy used to perch on the chair behind my cat-hating husband and groom his close-cropped hair. It was his lap she always sought and we often caught them hanging out together, my husband watching TV, Snowy purring contentedly while he scruffed her behind the ears.
We'll be taking her home from the vet today to bury her in the garden.
Thanks for your kind wishes.