The picture of a yellow kitten with green eyes that was on the cover of an edition of USA WEEKEND immediately captured my attention. The headline of the article was in large, bold letters reading :"The Truth About Cats.” Evidently, the writer of the article, pet expert Steve Dale, firmly believed that there was a lot of misinformation being given to the public that was both false and misleading. Cats were being made into second class citizens of the animal world and Steve didn't go for that.

Because I am a cat friendly person, this article became a must read for me. So, I continued beyond the headlines and this is some of the "truth" Steve Dale revealed: "You'd think from the numbers that cats are man’s best friend. According to the American Veterinary Medical Association cats outnumber dogs by more than 10 million (82 million to 72 million) and, no question, kittens have legions of fans.

"But here's the dirty little secret: Cats are more often neglected than dogs, more often relinquished to shelters and less often taken to veterinaries than dogs. What's up with that? I can tell you that whenever I write about cats for USA WEEKEND or in my newspaper column or speak favorably about cats on TV or radio, I get 'I hate cats' mail. The 'I hate cats mail' outnumbers the dog hate mail about 50 to 1."

When I read Steve Dale's comments about the difference in the treatment of dogs versus the treatment of cats, I was more than surprised I was highly perturbed. This, however, is valuable information - valuable because it helps to explain how our present culture allows the driver of a vehicle to stop on the highway in front of my house and toss out a helpless kitten to fend for itself in a new environment filled with unknown dangers.

How else can I explain the sudden appearance of a tiny, helpless kitten who found refuge in the storage area of my garage and then, two weeks later, ran across the front yard to the carport where an open crawl place allowed the kitten to enter into the darkness underneath my house where it stayed hidden in a new and still dangerous environment.

During this time I was continuing to provide food and water. But the kitten, provided with inherited survival skills, never ate or drank when I was close by. It was a strange situation - a six foot tall man and a tiny kitten playing hide and seek. The kitten was hiding and I was seeking and once again 1 was outmaneuvered by a small kitten.

So, belatedly, I changed my strategy: each day I would move the location of the food and water - moving them out a foot or two from the darkness of the crawl space to the light of the carport. This common sense approach to enticing the kitten to leave the security of its hiding place to the unknown dangers of the outside world proved to be successful. It was a team effort - me moving the bowl of food and pan of water and the kitten finding the courage to leave the security of the carport and finally walk out into the bright sunlight of the front yard.

From this successful beginning the journey continued on to the front walkway, then to the front steps, then to the front porch where the kitten began to mingle with Abby and Andy, my two other adopted stray cats. And, when Abby and Andy walked through the open front door, the kitten, with a hint of reticence, followed them in the house, keeping an eye on the open door should it need a way of escape.

This was the moment I had been waiting for. Up until this time I had only observed it from afar, keeping me in the dark about its gender, its breed, its eye color and its basic temperament. Now, for the first time I could stop calling the little kitten an "it" and start using words like she, and her and little girl. It was also the first time I could identify her breed - she was a classic Tabby cat.

I recall the time I first became aware of Tabby cats. I was visiting the vet with my little dog when a lady I recognized as a TV personality walked in with her cat. The attendant asked what kind of cat she was bringing in. And she, Babs Zimmerman, announced with a considerable amount of pride, "My cat is a Tabby cat."

Recalling that incident, I turned to my Complete Encyclopedia of Cats compiled by cat expert Ester J. J. Verhoef-Verhellen. On 476 glossy pages, she describes 78 recognized breeds of cats from Abyssinian to Turkish Van.

She devotes 8 pages to describe the various forms of Tabby cats. Of special interest to me is a full page picture of a Tabby. Located on page 4 of the encyclopedia, it is the forerunner of almost 1000 other pictures to be viewed, and a Tabby cat is picture number one. And now, a Tabby cat has found her way to my home and I wonder what I am going to do with her. And again the answer is, "Only time will tell."

In the meantime, she has turned my household upside down. If cats could talk, my Andy and Abby would question my sanity, saying, "Where in the world did you get this little hellcat? Before she appeared we had our pecking order all arranged like we wanted it, and now, all we have is cat chaos. "

If that is what Abby and Andy were thinking, they were absolutely correct. The Tabby kitten, with its distinctive markings of long, unbroken, black stripes set against a silver/gray coat, was proving to be an unpredictable ball of boundless energy. Refusing to go to the end of the line in my family of cats, she came on the scene with an undisguised attitude, an attitude that said, "I'm sick and tired of kittens being considered throw away, second class citizens. All I want is a little respect."

I didn't actually hear my Tabby kitten say those words, but from her actions I know that is what she was thinking. The first thing I noticed was the courage to not back away from the bullying tactics of my alpha cat Andy. Andy is a large 20 pound plus cat who resembles the picture of a Norwegian Forest cat. His long, champagne-colored hair gives him a look of royalty and he is accustomed to receiving compliments from the people who see him. And so, Andy rules my cat family with unquestioned authority.

Then came the unexpected intrusion of an uninvited, no name Tabby kitten with an unbridled attitude that Andy had not seen before. To Andy's credit he did not use his superior weight and size to crush the life out of the much smaller Tabby kitten, which he could have done with one quick swipe from a giant paw. But, no, Andy held his peace and I wondered why.

That brought back the memory of the day I was standing on my front porch looking out toward the garage where the kitten had been hiding. What I saw was a strange sight. Andy was standing over something that was not moving. It was the frightened kitten and Andy was not there to hurt it but to protect it. And now I knew the rest of the story - that was the time a unique bond was first established. It was a bond between the strong and the weak; between the secure and the insecure; between the experienced veteran of cat fights and an inexperienced tiny kitten. It was a bond that quickly developed into a friendship. Then, they became playmates chasing one another and then playing hide and seek like two small children.

All of this reminded me of the time when I made a vow that I would not adopt another stray cat - two adoptions were enough. Then along came a tiny ball of fur in the form of a frightened kitten. It was now decision time would I keep my vow or would I keep the kitten?

Just then I heard noise coming from under the dining table - It was big Andy and the little kitten. They were catching up on their playtime. I now knew what to do. The bond between my alpha cat Andy and the tiny Tabby kitten could not and should not be broken. But I could do something else - I could break the vow I had made to myself, and that is what I did, bringing a happy ending to the saga of a stray cat who is now an accepted member of my family of cats.