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I had just lost my cat of 20 years the week before. I was terribly sad but wasn't ready to replace her yet. Then I got a call from my brother.

It was January, our worst Midwest winter in 20 years, and he had gone out to get wood for the stove to heat his store. He moved the bucket of ashes aside and heard a faint noise. He looked under the cardboard partially covering the bucket, and there was a 6 month old bundle of fur curled up on top of the ashes.

She was filthy grayish black from head to toe, starving at only 3-4 pounds, and almost frozen stiff. She could barely muster a faint hiss as he picked her up, took her in and laid her on a towel in front of a space heater.

It was several hours before she had thawed enough to get up to the food bowl. I went that weekend to see her. She was terribly afraid of people and hid the whole weekend. I was unsure but ended up bringing her home.

She hid in the basement, and I did not see her for two weeks. I began coaxing her out, and she slowly started coming around to check out the house and me. After a couple more weeks, she finally began to learn that she was safe and did not have to fear abuse. Once she got herself cleaned up, I discovered she actually had white toes, a white leg and a tuxedo.

I figured since she was gray and was found in a bucket of gray ashes that Ashes was a proper name for her. She is now 10 pounds, is a very loving cat and rubs noses with me daily. She sits in the window waiting for me to come home from work and runs to meet me at the door.

She follows me everywhere, so I have learned to look first before I turn around. And she playfully "attacks" my leg to tell me she wants to play - catch, chase, or hide and seek.