Scooter came into our lives eleven years ago, when I caught her scavenging in a garbage can. She was small, scared, and wouldn’t have lasted long on her own in our woodsy area with its owls, fox and hawks. We’d seen her on several occasions in a neighbor’s barn, where she was born (I’m guessing in a wall space): her mother was a manx and domesticated, but all the kittens in her litter were wild. When they were weaned and mostly ignoring her, I picked Mom up early one morning and took her to a veterinary office to be adopted, while one-by-one the kittens disappeared. After these many years in our house she still suspects something’s up, although she does share her chair and allow us grooming privileges.