I admit it, I don’t know Raven’s actual birthday. He was the only living cat found along a highway in October 2006. This little black ball of fur was extremely lucky; he was found by a Humane Society worker on her way to work.
Raven was brought in that day, and as luck would have it, I stopped by there to do some volunteer work. I volunteered every week at the Humane Society. I brushed and played with the cats. They brought Raven to me, wrapped in a blanket like a baby, and asked me to bottle feed him.
When they told me he was only about 4 weeks old and had a small chance of survival at the shelter, I couldn’t say no when they asked me to foster him. So, five years ago, I took in a little black cat that I swore was going back to the shelter.
When is peculiar behavior began, I knew he wouldn’t get adopted. He is afraid of most things and not always that friendly. And being black decreased his adoption odds, too. So, I adopted him. I paid the fee, signed the paperwork and named him Raven.
At 5, he is still a handful. He keeps me on toes, always getting into things and attacking his older sisters, Maddy and Chaos. I love this little neurotic ball of black fur and I can’t imagine my life without him. So happy birthday, Raven!













