My Sister's Cats -story for library competition

We used to have a dog. She was half Chow and half Retriever with a heavy black coat, huge, brown eyes, and a warm nose. Her name was Bridget, and we adopted her from a shelter when she was just a puppy. She lived with us for nearly ten years, growing to stand above your knees and becoming one of the fastest dogs to react to the world squirrel. She kept the snakes away, drank from our pool, hated her baths, learned to open our screen door with her paws, preferred to stay in her kennel, ate through our swimming noodles, and ultimately refused to play anything so unrefined as fetch. She was a wonderful dog and a wonderful friend up until the day she died.
Immediately, we began to miss the ever present face at the bottom of our French doors. It was my job to feed Bridget, and I missed going out to wish her good mornings and good nights. Shadows from the trees near our house often caused me to think I saw her standing in the yard. It was very hard, and my mom and sister and I all wanted another dog. My dad, however, had made it quite plain that when Bridget died, we weren't getting another dog because they cost too much. Soon, this was unhappily accepted as irreparable fact.
Then, a curious thing happened. A cat appeared. He came around often and was very friendly, allowing us to pick him up at any time. My sister had too much of a soft spot for cats and wanted to feed him. Mom opened up a packet of tuna and that was the beginning. Because of his creamy, yellowy coat, he was named 'Cappuccino' but we only ever called him, Chino. He now came around often, and my sister and I would stop what we were doing to go out and hold him.
ONe day, my sister excitedly told me that she'd spotted a gray cat down at our barn. The barn was a solid , white structure affixedc to the very back of our property. It was filled with random sizes of boards, rusty equipment, and occasional rat or colony of rats, and a distinct smell that can only be labeled as "the barn smell." My sister told me she'd gotten close enough to pet the cat, and it had the softest fur. I decided to go and bring it up to the house where we could feed it.
The gray cat met me a few feet from the barn. I quickly discovered she was a girl and that was most exciting. Her fur was just as my sister had described it: like goose feathers. She caustiously followed me up to the house, and my sister and I immediatley set to work on her name. We looked at her attributes which were alertness, snootiness, and no interest whatsover in Chino. These happened to be some of the most prominent attributes of a character in a book. Thus, she was given the character's name, Arya.
Meanwhile, three other cats made their appeareances. There was David: black and white, fat, an immense tail, and sat like a statue atop the fence that went right behind the barn. Then, there were Riley and Junior. These two cats were identical. The only difference was their size. Riley was fatter than David, but Junior seemed a mere ktiten. Despite the size, their names allways became entangled.
Around the arrival of these three, Mom had become depleted of packaged tuna and canned chicken. So, she broke down and bough a small bag of cat food. Also at this time, another change occured. Arya went into heat. All the other cats became bolder and started chasing her up trees and under cars. We felt sorry for her, but it was a natural process. Soon, I was given a very intereseting Biology lesson.
As Arya became exceedingly fat in her middle, David, Riely, and Junior disappeared. Chino still hung around, yet, not nearly as much. Mom informed us that it was getting near Arya's time to deliver. My sister and I were excited and anxious. Then, Arya was not there the next day. She was gone the day after and the day after that. Arya was gone for almost two weeks, and Mom proclaimed she'd gone back to her real home to have kittens. My sister and I hoped the kittens would come to our house.
Not too long after, as if in answer, Arya led her four kittens to our yard. The kittens were very adorable, and it was clear from their coloring, that Chino was the father. Two were boys, and two were girls. Again, names had to be decided. My sister suggested using the arts to name them. ONe of the boys, gray with white paws, took charge of art by being named Leonardo DiVinci, with Leo for short. The other boy, solid black with yellow eyes, was given pop music by being named Michael Jackson and calling him simply, Jackson. The girls were harder to name, as it seems with all girls. Finally, the bigger of the two with the black stripes, was named Carmen for the Opera. And the other girl that was exactly a mix of her parents, was donned Ginger Rodgers in honor of dancing. Excitedly, we showed them to Mom who wasn't very pleased. Mom had never been a huge cat person herself.
Time went by. Chino could no longer be found. Arya herself was scarce. The kittens grew: each of their personalities showing clearer each day. Leo was calm and friendly. Jackson was literally a "scaredy cat" as he ran from everything. Carmen was the trouble maker, and tiny Ginger was the sweet one. We enjoyed having them around so much. But then, like clockwork, they started to leave. They didn't come around nearly as often, and when they did, it was not up at the house. Just as they were pretty much gone entirely, haughtly Arya returned.
Because I was upset at the kittens leaving, and Arya was the meanest of all the cats we'd ever had around, I began to dislike her. My sister still loved her, going out at all times to pet and fee her. Still, I decided not to like her since she scared off her children who were my real favorites. However, she persisted in staying. Now, occasionally, we'd catch a glimpse of another cat. It mihgt be Chino or Jackson or Riley/Jr.
Then, Carmen visited us for a night. She was ridiculously massive in her middle, far bigger than David or Riely had been. We then assumed that she was pregnant, and soon, though we've never seen her since, her kittens came around. ONe by one, they came slowly. First, there was a girl who looked as if she'd been sown together with scraps of fabric. Some might call her patchwork; Mom called her ugly. She was rather homely, but she was so small and had such a cute face. My sister and I chose to name any kittens from Carmen's litter from the characters out of Disney movies. She was subsequently christened, Naala. The next kitten came by; he was Simba. This cat was as skinny as a rail and was gray with some darker stripes. Then, another small cat came around; who we almsot though was Simba. The same coloring, though slightly bigger around, but it was a gril. Wendy she was, and the next to come, who was also gray with blackish swirly patterns on his sides, was Peter.
Naala tried to hang around often, but she and Arya did not get along. Perhaps it was some type of female rivalry over a previous claimed area. Despite the efforts we made to make them friends, the two who were actually grandma and granddaughter, never met without a hissing match. Soon, for whatever reason, Arya backed off and let Naala rule the roost which she took extreme pleasure in. Jackson was also always hangign around. So, we had two that were sleeping at the house, and Arya came around very often. My sister and I started saying we owned two cats. This was very close to the truth. Though we didn't take them to vet appointments, we fed them adn they always stayed. Jackson and Naala really never left. They were always outside adn sunning themselves on our diving board.
Once again, spring rolled around and it was Naala's turn to enter into a heat. The day that followed was very strange in that all the male cats seemed to come from nowhere. Jackson was around of course, but then came Riley, Simba, and Peter. It was kind of exciting to know that we'd seen two genereations of cats and would now be watching the third come around.
Now, we wait. Naala grows fatter by the day, and we await the arrival of her kittens which my sister and I hope occurs at our house. Since this time, Jackson has left. He simply disappeared and we haven't seen him since. Arya still comes fairly often, though. Sometimes, I forget a time when we didn't have at least one cat peering in at us through our French doors. Sometimes, I forget a time when there was not a cat prowling in the high grass or sunning itself on our diving board. But then, I do remember. I make myself remember the joy of racing with Bridget. I remember what fun it used to be to go out on cold mornings and sit with my feet in her fur. I can never truly forget those times, but they often sit in the sidelines as I watch the cats. Then, I think of how it was when Chino first came, how we were so excited to have a cat by our house. I do miss Bridget, but I like having the cats around. I like watching how my sister goes out all the time to pet them. They truly are her cats, for she enjoys them more than any of us. We recently took a vacation and pain our young neighbor to come over and feed them. So, it really is like we have real pets again.