Name: Franklin
DOB: Approx 7/15/07
Place of Birth: Southern California
Weight: 12 lbs (as of 3/1/08)
Coloring: Black & White
Nicknames: Big boy, Gato Diablo, Godzilla, Franklinstein
Likes: Belly rubs, dangly toys, carpet, water
Dislikes: Closed doors

Although he was the second kitten to come to the house, he was the kitten that started it all. One dreary October morning, still raw from the tragic loss of several friends in a plane crash, I saw a post on an online community that I frequent. It was from a friend in southern California, looking for a home for a little black and white kitten that her friend had rescued, but that she couldn't keep due to allergies.

I made a vague reference to how I'd been thinking about adopting cats for a while and how I thought he was cute. Next thing I knew, I was involved in discussions of how, exactly, we could work the logistics of getting THIS cat from Orange County California, to Seattle. Before long, we had a plan, and a date set, and the Franklin Adoption Plan was in motion. In the meantime, I adopted Daisy so that he wouldn't be a solo cat.

Franklin and I first met in the John Wayne Airport. He was unfazed by the experience, then as always, a zen traveler. My friend harnessed and leashed him for the trip through security, but it almost wasn't necessary - he didn't wriggle a bit and moved in and out of the carrier with ease. On the plane, I thought perhaps I'd need to soothe him a bit, but he was calm, cool, and collected ... not a peep out of him.

Little did I know that peeps are about all I ever get out of him. He's the strong, silent type. If he does meow, it's more like a "meep" than a meow. It's a pathetic little bleat, a sad little refrain that sounds like it's coming from any number of other animals, but not from a strong feline like him. Oh, he'll howl if he's in any kind of pain, but all other communication is decidedly non-verbal.

He's my climber, my adventurer, my bully. He's sweet as pie to Daisy, but she knows better, because his extended grooming sessions are invariably followed by wrestling and fighting. He's fully mastered the innocent "who, me?" look that follows misadventure, as his explorations often lead to breakage, or at the very least, spillage.