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We have a cat. His name is Sylvester. I call him 'Kitteh'. And he answers to 'Kitteh'.

Sylvester came to us in February of 2006 via the local humane society. We were not listed as a feline foster home, but we did do emergency weekend fostering when needed. Friday afternoon they called me needing a weekend spot for a new cat that had come in. His elderly owner had passed and his son had brought him in, unable to keep him himself.

I arrived at the vet clinic to pick him up and they had him all crated and ready to go. I peek between the bars of the door and saw a tiny little orange head tucked way back in a very small crate. Just a little guy!  I put him in the truck and off we went.

I set up a spot for him with food, water and a litter box and just left his crate open so he could come out on his own terms. By Saturday morning, he still hadn't come out. I could tell nothing had been used. So I tried coaxing him out. Nothing. Finally I gently tipped the back end of the crate up hoping to give him a nudge. Nothing. I ended up pouring about 22lbs of furry orange flab out of the crate. Sylvester had been stuck in the crate! I have no idea how they even stuffed him into that thing.

Well the weekend turned into a week, and the week turned into a month. Sylvester made himself at home and one night out of the blue, while watching a John Cena movie, Red said, "Let's just keep him". After some shock on my part, we discussed and he did indeed stay.

Today Syl is nearing his 11th birthday and has been here almost 5 years. He's become a great asset to me and the rescue because he doesn't so much mind being the bait as we 'cat test' our foster dogs. He's a cat afterall and apparently knows he rules over everything that moves in this house.

And I'm pretty sure he's singing 'na na na na boo boo' to the dogs as I hold them back from trying to kill him. He doesn't even flinch. 

Flinching would require waaaay too much energy on his part.