After spending a year of depression over losing my dog of 16 years I finally admitted it was time to find a another companion. I chanced upon PAL a rescue site in Apple Valley, Ca. at the time. That was eight years ago. I entered a small room with a tiny window near the ceiling, and there she was, a grey tabby. As soon as I entered the room she flopped over on her side and killed me with a tiny meow. I was had, that was it. I took her home the same day and she has been with me for eight years. They thought she was approx 4 years old when I took her. She had been living on the street and had a litter of kittens when they found her. She had been kept in the small room for 2 years and I said to myself, never again. She will have the freedom she deserves. So now she roams the house and enjoys a 3/4 acre backyard. She immediately took to hunting, always bringing me a "gift" nearly every day. Thus the term "terrorist". Attacking the carpet in the house is a habit I can't break her of even though she has several hundred scratching posts of every configuration imaginable. But that's ok, she owns my heart.