Pudd was part Maine Coon as evidenced by her occasional silent meows, her drinking by cupping the water into her paw and bringing the water up to her mouth, her beautiful markings (black with white throat and paws), her long fur, sleek on the top, fluffy under the top layer . . . and her fearlessness. She came to us as a kitten from the wilds on a cold and rainy night . . . And she stayed with us until her final day.
Pudd accompanied us to Wilbraham, and on those summers, nary a mouse nor a squirrel could be seen in or around the house. Pudd would prowl along the rafters making sure that all was clear both day and night.
One summer, a feral cat gave birth to kittens back by the shed, alongside the path leading into the woods. Pudd had nothing to do with that cat. That is, until one day, when she saw the neighbor's dalmation leaping full speed across the acreage that divided our cabin from the neighbor's house . . . full speed towards the feral cat who was nursing her kittens. The dog had no sooner passed our cabin when Pudd went into action, and caught up to the dalmation just as it reached the nursing cat's abode . . . Pudd leaped onto the dog, yowling, a dog 10 times her size, dug her claws in, until the dog turned around, shaking Pudd off, and returned full speed to his house across the way.
Pudd risked her life for her neighbor, a neighbor who she ostensibly did not know, a neighbor who needed her help.