Adela and her cats Eddie and Fela

Adela reintroduced me to the love of cats when our paths crossed again in 2011. At the time, Eddie was her companion. She had found tiny kitten Eddie in a parking lot in Los Angeles on her way to get a haircut. Her stylist insisted that “Eddie” was the right name for this little girl, and Adela—amused—went with it. Eddie was cautious at first, a bit suspicious and distant, but she eventually warmed to me. When Adela moved from LA to join me in Geneva, she shipped Eddie ahead. I remember thinking, that cat is not going to appreciate this plan. And indeed, Eddie spent her first two or three weeks living almost entirely in our closet, occasionally expressing her displeasure by vomiting in my shoes. From that point on, our cats always flew with us in the cabin. Eddie adored Adela and protected her fiercely, and she never hesitated to make her feelings known. Once, when Adela left Eddie with me for a few weeks while she traveled to Morocco to meet Patricia, Eddie made her opinion of this arrangement unmistakably clear. The morning Adela returned to Geneva, I woke up wondering what on earth that smell was. Eddie—ever expressive—had left a very large, very smelly message right next to Adela’s head on the bed. Her disapproval of being left behind was unmistakable. But Eddie was also gentle, intuitive, and healing. When Adela was sad or unwell, Eddie would curl up on her chest or stomach, as if channeling something protective. Adela often said Eddie was an angel of mercy. When we left Geneva for Bogotá, Eddie flew with us. People in the airport were amazed by how calm she was going through security, and Adela proudly told anyone who would listen about Eddie’s quirks and charms. Eddie eventually passed away in Colombia, simply from old age. After losing her, Adela didn’t want another cat right away. I couldn’t bear the idea of going through that kind of loss again either, so we quietly agreed to postpone the question indefinitely. But one day I came home from my many travels in Colombia to our apartment in Bogotá, and Adela announced—with that unmistakable spark in her eyes—that she had adopted a new cat. A calico with oversized ears and a patchwork coat. A woman in Bogotá had rescued her from the street after seeing children using her as a toy to throw. Adela couldn’t stand the thought of that, and she decided this little creature deserved a home. Because of her colors, we named her Fela. Fela was a true street cat. She loved bread and crackers—just like Adela—and Adela happily shared with her. She even nibbled on the papaya I ate every morning. But Fela had no idea how to live in an apartment. She climbed everywhere. One of the funniest things Adela ever said was during one of her many exasperated “FELA… no” moments. She sighed and said, “Fela probably thinks her last name is No. Fela No. Adela No. Todd No. She must think she was adopted by the No family.” Fela was athletic and fearless. She could catch flies mid air and pull herself up with one paw. In that way, she and Adela were kindred spirits—both pushing themselves, both refusing limits. She also had a talent for disappearing. She was lost in the Miami airport once. Another time, in Minnesota, she vanished for days before being found in the rafters of a neighbor’s house. She escaped again in a Minnesota airport. Eddie had been serene in airports; Fela was pure chaos. Eventually, Adela refused to fly with her at all—it was simply too stressful—so I flew with Fela to Geneva alone. In Switzerland, Adela bought an electronic tracker for her. It was astonishing to see how far Fela roamed and the adventures she managed to find. She took on challenges the way Adela did—head on, with a mix of bravery and questionable judgment. She once lost her balance and got stuck for days in a basement garden. Another time, chasing a bird, she fell three stories and saved herself by grabbing onto anything she could on the way down. We once woke to strange noises and discovered she had somehow gotten herself trapped inside a sheet of plastic in the storage unit. And during one of Adela’s trips, she apparently drank rat poison and woke me at 3 a.m. to tell me she had a problem. She spent a few days in the pet hospital, and Adela was back just in time for her release. Adela kept count of Fela’s brushes with disaster. When she reached seven, Adela—knowing that in Europe cats are said to have seven lives—announced that we needed to move to the United States, where cats have nine. “Fela needs the extra two,” she said. And not long after, the No family packed up and moved to Minnesota.