Squeeker was always such a sweet and loving kitty. He was a real giver, even if he could ignore you with the best of 'em. When we first met, in the summer of 1999, he mewed and walked right up to me when I walked outside early one evening. My boyfriend (now fiancé) had told me, one of the times he came over to visit (he lived a street away -- we were both taking summer classes), that there was a new kitty living in the alley who was very friendly.

It turns out that some people had moved into a house with a backyard and driveway facing onto the alley my apartment faced on, and they'd decided to keep him outside. They had a dog too, who they kept inside except for him to do his business and have an occasional play time, but Squeeker (then Mittens I came to find out) was left outside 24/7 with just food and water left out for him. It was clear from the beginning he was attention starved -- they'd pet him occasionally when coming or going if he happened to be around -- and the first time we met he did his now famous flop in front of me, right on the white gravel rocks. I pet him and talked to him, telling him what a pretty boy he was (being part siamese, it was easy to tell he was male and had been fixed).

Well, late that very night, when Jeremy walked home (the alley I was in continued across the street, and the house he was renting that summer was on the next street up against the alley), little new kitty followed him home. It was about 11:30 at night, and he called me and said "Guess who followed me home?" He wanted me to come get him, so I grabbed my keys, locked the door, and went after him. He was easily approachable, letting me pet him, but he was fascinated by his new surroundings.

I was following him around talking to him, trying to make sure he didn't go too far (he never left the alley area or area immediately on that side of the house), and trying to get him to start following me. That didn't work, and it was very dark, with him exploring the shadows. Finally I decided the only way to get him back home (so he didn't have to walk back unsupervised on that dark night and risk getting hit by a car) was to pick him up. This worried me a bit, because I've known my share of cats who are just as friendly as can be, but the second you pick them up -- let alone take them anywhere -- they become a thrashing bundle of fur with hundreds of claws everywhere until you put them down. But I wanted to know that this new neighbor kitty was safe, and since it was sort of our fault he was over here (we did pay him lots of attention, and Jeremy did just walk away) I felt it was my duty to get him home safely.

So, I swallowed my doubts and picked him up. To my surprise, he was perfectly content to be held, and settled confortably (sitting up of course, so he could look all around him) in my arms on one shoulder as I walked back with him. When I was just stopping right by their back driveway and my apartment entrance, he leaned to be let down, and of course I did. He was the perfect angel, and didn't once try to scratch or bite me. I went back inside and eventually went to bed.