By DOROTHEA NORDSTRAND

I grew up always having a pet cat and husband, Vern, and I have continued the practice for over 40 years. However, when our wonderful bundle of love named "Little Red," a long-haired red tabby, had to be "put to sleep," we decided not to replace him. We had retired from our jobs and planned to spend a great deal of time traveling, which meant that a pet would have to be cared for by someone else while we were gone.

I was frankly skeptical that I could stand not having a cat, but, with the prospect of long-awaited freedom to travel, agreed to give it a try.

While we were off on a trip, we kept telling each other how nice it was not to have to worry about a cat, but homecomings were awful. We were so used to having a furry fellow to greet us, that there was something terribly cold about returning to an empty house. I would have caved in after the first trip, but my stalwart (another word for stubborn) spouse kept reminding me that we had agreed to give it a chance.

Just when I felt I couldn't stand it any longer, a new family moved into a house down the street, and I was delighted to learn that they had two dogs and a mamma cat with kittens! Lots of petting material to relieve my frustrated nurturing.

Since both owners went to work during the daytime, we soon began getting visits from one of the kittens when we worked in our garden. We would catch glimpses of him as he watched us from behind some bushes. He was very shy, and would scamper away if we tried to approach. We learned that his name was "Tom." He was black and gray striped, a short-haired kitty with coal black feet and ears and very large, golden-green eyes. He was tall and long for a half-grown kitten. In fact, Tom was two kittens tall, two kittens long and a half-a-kitten wide.

The first day Tom let me touch him, I was elated. A few days later, he jumped into Vern's lap and started to purr. When he laid his head on Vern's chest and looked up at him with those beautiful golden eyes, well, you know who was hooked.

We both kept telling each other that he belonged to someone else and that we mustn't feed him. However, nothing was said about holding and petting and he soon showed up any time we were outdoors.

Then, one day, I saw a box of Tender Vittles materialize in our grocery cart. I'm ashamed to say that I pretended not to notice and Tom enjoyed the special treat when he came visiting. However, our feelings of guilt began to nudge, and we agreed that we mustn't let him come inside the house.

Then, one rainy day, he slipped into the kitchen when one of us conveniently propped the screen door open, and our downfall was complete. His own bowl of food materialized beside the refrigerator and he learned to climb the grill on the door to let us know when he wanted to come in.

We were both wrapped around his little black paw. Our affection grew along with our troubled consciences.

Then, one day when Tom was stretched out sound asleep on our couch, Vern said, in a horrified tone, "My gosh, here comes Carol."

Now, Carol is the lady who owns Tom, and here was Tom very much at home in plain view of the door. Such was our feeling of guilt that we were sure she was coming to give us "what for" for taking over her cat.

Courageous me, I hid behind the dining room door and watched through the crack while Vern was stuck with having to explain the sticky situation. He went to the door babbling things like, "We know we shouldn't ... I supposed you're looking for..."

First, there was a puzzled look on Carol's face. Then, as she saw Tom, a knowing grin began to grow. Then she said, "Well, really, Vern, I just got back from Eastern Washington and I thought you and Dorothea might like some of these," and she handed him a bag of Walla Walla Sweet onions.

Well, our relief was extreme. She obviously didn't mind that we enjoyed our friendship with her cat and we could give up feeling such guilt.

Proof that we have not quite reached that point surfaced when we returned from a recent trip. Paul, who co-owns Tom, casually mentioned that they figured we must be gone because Tom was hanging around home more. "Now," our uneasy consciences asked, "How did he mean that?"

In any case, as I write this, Tom is sound asleep on my desk. To satisfy my guilty feeling, I will be very sure that he is outside by the time Carol comes home from work. This is called "eating your cake and having it, too."

Dorothea Nordstrand is a Green Lake resident.