Myrtle showed up at Bill and Dorothy's house during the summer, having followed the Boston family home from a walk near the riding center. Bill was not amused with her presence and she was rather spontaneously plopped into my van (by Elizabeth) one afternoon as I pulled out of their driveway. She adopted us, mewing pathetically for food and looking young and skinny. We complied, and promptly fell in love with her affectionate, tolerant, lovely cat-ness. She was named Lemon by the cousins, which was a quite good name I think, but we decided we wanted to give her another name (in addition to Lemon). First we needed to determine whether she was a she, which was pretty easy. (We had planned to call her either Martha Stewart or Jon Stewart, depending.) After a brief couple of days during which we called her Martha, the boys revolted and the search resumed for a better name. We had recently started the final Harry Potter book and quickly decided to name her after a book character. Finally, we agreed on Myrtle.
Which rhymes with Fertile. The vet mistakenly diagnosed a pregnancy and for several weeks we searched for future homes for kittens. We fretted about aggressive male cats and decided to sequester her in the garage for her safety and the safety of the kittens. Finally, after being past her estimated due date for a while, we called the vet for an appointment, and she was diagnosed Not Pregnant After All. And then she was fixed.
