One of my big worries, when we were ready to bring Oly home from the hospital, was about how Henry was going to react. If you don’t know Henry, you are missing one of the great cats of our time. He was born in a grain silo across the street from our home in Amsterdam, Montana. He arrived at our house on Thanksgiving night 2001. He was just a few weeks old and he smelled like poop. We already had one cat; her name was G and she did not want a freind. My father had just had a stroke and my mother and him were living with us while he recovered; we were in the process of turning the house into a duplex. After Henry spent a couple of cold and snowy nights on a window seal, we decided we would shut the door between the two living spaces and let Henry live with my mother and father. I believe Henry helped my father in his recovery from his stroke. Now, years later, Henry is like my dog; he follows me around the property, he hangs in the cabin if I’m working out there and he sleeps at my feet. Now, he protects Oly. If Oly is making noise at night, Henry will sit on the bed-side table between Megan and the monitor and listen to him stir. His love of Oly started on the first night we came home from the hospital. As Oly cried and we freaked out, Henry followed us around and I think he could feel the fear in us; he knew we loved what was in those blankets. He also knew it was a baby; a baby what was what worried him. Now, 5 months later, if Oly begins to stir, Henry walks around the house and meows as if he is saying, “Get up, Oly needs you.” I think even though he is scared of Oly and his sudden movements, Oly is now his person, if only he would quit pulling his hair.