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I jumped up on the windowsill, looked out the window, and thought I was, indeed, in the land of cotton - where old times are not forgotten. Alas, the young folks upstairs told me, 'That's not cotton, woman - that's snow. And it's cold and it's wet and we were out lost in it, and you should be happy you're in here - at Feline Rescue - with us.' I guess that explains why I've not been getting grits for breakfast! I had people, a family, even a little dog (kinda cute), but times changed, so I came here to say, 'People, I am here. I am Dixie, I know myself, and I like to talk. Look at me, and I'll talk to you.' Don't look at me - and I'll talk to you. If you let me, I'll follow you around - and I'll talk to you. We down South women don't believe in prissy reticence. I'll walk right up and say, 'Hello, there, person, where y'all from and where are we all goin'?' To your home, I hope. I'm black and white with sparkly eyes. I move about with hustle and bustle, doing the things a cat must do. I'll carefully climb your legs; I save my claws for when I need them, like for hanging on to windowsills and such. I'm friendly and strong, not exactly a shrinking violet - more like a steel magnolia, I'd say. And, yes, I do tell stories - want to sit down here and listen to a few? Want a little peace and quiet while I purr in your lap? We could do that, too. I'm a middle-aged gal, but I'm full of spunk. I've been telling those young ones upstairs how to put together good lives.