My husband and I had just moved to San Francisco, working very hard to find a nice flat to rent that would accept our two cats, Desi and Spidey. We found a great place, and the landlord reluctantly agreed to two cats vs. one. Three months into our stay in San Francisco, my husband's secretary told us about a kitten she'd found in her backyard in Berkeley. Her pot-bellied pig wasn't taking kindly to this new addition to the home, and she begged us to take her. While we worried about the landlord, we couldn't resist a baby in the family. The next Saturday, little Jaclyn arrived. She was so tiny she was sleeping in a shoebox with a washcloth for her blanket! Not only did we fall in love with her, but our two older cats took her in immediately. They bathed her, watched over her, and taught her all the tricks she needed to know to be a member of their clan. My favorite memory of those days are seeing the big boys running the long hallway of our flat, with a tiny little kitten riding on their backs like a jockey on a horse! An hour later, they'd all be on the bed for a group-nap, each with their front paws on her little body in a protective hug, snuggling her to sleep. Jaclyn is now the sole kitty-survivor in our house, and about 16 years old, but sometimes when I look at her, or watch her chase after a toy, I see a glimpse of that little kitten who "rode cats" many years ago in a flat in San Francisco.