"What's your name?" asked Charlotte.

"Meow," said the kitten.

"Are you a girl kitten or a boy kitten?" asked Charlotte.

"Meow," said the kitten.

"Do you want to go to the vet?"

"Meow," said the kitten.

The vet could see them right away, so the Mielswetzskis piled into the car. It was not an hour later that Charlotte found that her kitten was a girl (Charlotte had thought so), did not have rabies (good), did have worms (nothing some pills wouldn't take care of), was certainly underfed (poor kitty), and was likely a stray. They should put up signs and put an ad in the newspaper, but if no one claimed the kitten for one month, she would be an official member of the family.

Charlotte was not worried. They could put up all the signs and take out all the ads they wanted. The kitten had chosen her-it was fate, and Charlotte knew it. Charlotte might not be good for choirs or plays or school or sports or good attitudes or new people, but she knew that she was good for kittens. And kittens were most certainly good for Charlotte.

Mr. and Mrs. Mielswetzski were good parents and good people, and while perhaps they would not have thought to go out and get themselves a cat- the time was never quite right, maybe next year, maybe for Christmas, it's important not to rush into anything-if one were to fall into their laps, they would certainly let it stay there.

"She is awfully cute," said Charlotte's father on the way home from the vet.

"We better not get too attached," said her mother.

"But it would sure be nice," said her father.

"Well, there's no doubt about that," said her mother. "We should pick up some supplies," said her father.

"Oh, yes," said her mother. "The cat will need supplies."

And pretty soon the Mielswetzskis had not only a cat, but two ceramic cat dishes, a bag of premium kitten food, one scratching post, some clumping litter, a litter box with a hood, assorted balls and accoutrements, three toy mice, two boxes of catnip, and one sorely needed soft-bristled brush.