The Story of a Coat of Many Colors

We all remember the Bible story of Joseph and his many-colored coat in Genesis 37. Well, there is a cat with a coat of many colors. That cat is the Calico. Most are multicolored in a white coat, and to be calico, they must have at least three colors in white. They dumped our gorgeous calico in a house down the road from The Sanctuary, a quiet haven filled with the scent of pine and the distant chime of wind bells. The woman who brought her to humans, who would become her Mommy, Daddy, and Sister, was not sure what was taking place—being dumped out of one car and brought to another place right after that. This calico did not even want to leave the second car; she hid in the shadows beneath the seat, where the air smelled of stale upholstery and old coins, her heart racing against the floorboards. She wouldn't let anyone near her. That is, until she heard this strange man's voice—a low, rhythmic rumble that felt like safety—talking to her. She crept to the edge of the seat back and looked out, her emerald eyes wide with a mix of terror and curiosity. Everyone else stood back from the cat while this happened. Soon after, the human reached out gently and stroked a cute head, his touch warm and firm. Suddenly, this calico was in her father's arms, the tension in her small frame melting into a soft, hesitant purr. As soon as she walked into the house, her adopted dad petted her all over, sealing an unspoken promise of protection. Once inside, mommy wondered what a good name might be, and this little girl immediately jumped up and crawled onto his shoulders, claiming her vantage point. Mommy said, “Maybe Toppie?” and she held her head up proudly to approve (Yeah, from the top of my head says Sister), a tiny queen accepting her title. Toppie, the quickest sanctuary name ever given, for the next few months, she stayed as close to Daddy as she could when he was at home. She would shadow him, a silent, colorful ghost, not wanting to be far away from her “savior,” her attachment born from a profound relief at being found. Her confidence grew, and she started “helping” Daddy with some of his projects. Especially when he works in his workshop—a cozy space filled with the metallic tang of tools, the earthy aroma of sawdust, and the bright, clicking sounds of stones. She watches intently as he crafts accessories, making bracelets or necklaces with delicate precision. Now, he never gets mad because he knows it is a cat. He just picks up the pieces and starts over. But yes, he gets frustrated, but never mad. The kids are too precious for him to become angry. She meets with her sister, a cat whisperer, six months later to answer a significant question: to adopt or not to adopt. Ms. Toppie says, “I have my dad. This is my home." So, she has her home with her Daddy, and she is a “Daddy's Girl.” Mark has been away for a few months, and Ms. Toppie stands guard over his workshop. One of her favorite places because she usually has Daddy to herself. In pleasant weather, she sits on the outside of the workbench on the steps leading to the inside, soaking in the sun. In adverse weather, she sits in the back living room window watching his shop, her tail twitching as she waits for more personal time with her dad. If Sister had to step out and open the shop door for any reason, Ms. Toppie would be right there. She must inspect every inch of the shop inside—every scent of oil and every shadow on the wall—to ensure everything is ready for her dad when he gets home later this year.