In a household with three black cats, Halloween rules!

The first two are a brother and sister who came to us from a rescue organization when they were about 11 weeks old.

Lou chose the fluffy girl and named her Bastet, for the Egyptian cat-goddess. Her Fluffiness the Goddess Bastet walked into our house as if she owned it. She’s the most playful cat one could imagine–everything is a toy. She specially likes butterflies made from red pipe-cleaners, but will play with anything she finds.

The boy was mine, a sleek and charming guy with big ears and a white tail-tip. I named him Dickens for my favorite writer, but because of that magic wand of a tail, his whole name is Mr. Harry Dickens. Dickens appointed himself the investigator of all cabinets, boxes, and anything with a cavity.

The third black cat found us. Apparently he could read the word “sucker” on my forehead. Anyway, he hung around the house for about a year and a  half, being fed occasionally, until one day he was obviously sick. I took him to the vet, had him neutered, and stuffed antibiotics down his throat. We named him Xeno for “foreign kitty” but changed it to Zeno for the famous mathematician. The vet says he’s just a little older than Dickens and Bastet. He’s settled in fine, and is the most affectionate of the three cats.