This summer, we added a new member to our family, an orange kitten.  My daughters named her Willow.

We had an extraordinarily wonderful cat many years back, named Rembrandt.  He was a big orange cat with a white-tipped tail that looked like a paint brush and four white paws that looked like he had walked through paint.  I named him after visiting the Städel Rembrandt Museum in Frankfurt, Germany shortly before we adopted him.

It was my understanding that all orange cats are males, but Willow seems to be an exception to that rule.  Her personality, however, is so similar to Rembrandt’s that it’s uncanny.  Like our doodle dog, Paris, she’s ridiculously sweet and affectionate, constantly looking for love.  She formed an instant bond with my daughters and cries if they leave her for any length of time, even just to go to the bathroom.  The girls carry her around everywhere.  Willow lets them dress her up in doll clothes, ever patient for any game they want to play, just soaking up the attention.  She loves to have her belly rubbed, and her favorite cat toy is Paris’ fluffy tail.