When I was about 12 I was at a sleepaway camp in Massachusetts. I’d get up very early to go to the kitchen cabin for breakfast—cold cereal in milk. Not a great idea on a chilly morning, but I wasn’t allowed to use the stove. A stray cat that I nicknamed Whitey would climb into the hood of my jacket when I got there, to get warm. She’d stay in the hood until I ate the cereal. I’d then give her the milk. I don’t know what happened to her when the camp closed. This strip is in her memory.
When I was about 12 I was at a sleepaway camp in Massachusetts. I’d get up very early to go to the kitchen cabin for breakfast—cold cereal in milk. Not a great idea on a chilly morning, but I wasn’t allowed to use the stove. A stray cat that I nicknamed Whitey would climb into the hood of my jacket when I got there, to get warm. She’d stay in the hood until I ate the cereal. I’d then give her the milk. I don’t know what happened to her when the camp closed. This strip is in her memory.