From left, Jackie, Hadley and Grace. Elisabeth Strillacci photo.

The old, the discarded, the runt, the ones everyone else bullies. All the odd or outcast animals seem to find their way to me, much to my husband’s chagrin.

I confess I took him seriously at last when he said the next animal to come into our house would be to replace him. So as we have lost animals to age or, in too many cases to cancer, we have not replaced them. We agreed, and I will try to honor it, that we will have no more dogs when the last one goes. I promise I will try.

Most recently we lost the guinea pig, Mocha, that we adopted when our son’s former girlfriend couldn’t keep him. Mocha started out as a she, but when we got to the vet, turned out she was a he and he was born that way. He lived a happy life, long for a guinea pig but never long enough for me.

We’ve lost other animals — dogs, cats, sugar gliders, opossums —losses that always break my heart. Every time one of them leaves, they take a little bit of my heart with them. When my time comes, I’m going wherever they are so I can have my heart made whole again.

Right now, we have anywhere between three and five “barn” cats that live between our carport/barn, back stoop and front porch that we feed and house outside, so he’s better with that, though we still take care of them and they still cost us money. But they’re worth it.

One of them, Emily, showed up just over a year ago and we know someone dumped her because her fur still had the matted area from where her collar once was.

She became one of the barn cats, since we already have two female cats in the house. Beautiful, affectionate, she accepted her new life, preferring to sleep in one of the outdoor houses we constructed just outside the back door. In winter, they have straw and warmers that last the night to keep them warm. They have the carport for protection from wind and rain if they don’t use one of the houses, and we feed them every morning and night. They have flea collars and if they need vet care they get it.

Emily never exhibited a heat cycle and she went a year without getting pregnant, so we made the assumption she was already fixed.

Then just over nine weeks ago, the husband asked me if I thought she looked a little chubby. I said I didn’t think so, she always walked with an arched back that made her look heavier than she really is.

Boy was I wrong.

By the time I got home, sweet little Emily had two kittens in the outdoor house with her. We immediately brought her in to the upstairs bathroom where she could be warm and safe and the babies would be protected. By morning there was one more. And she was the most wonderful mom.

There are two orange tabbies and one cream-colored one with the faintest of stripes. Although there could be multiple dads, Papa Cat is most definitely the orange tabby that showed up not long before the birth. He’s now a barn cat as well.

I made another mistake when I assumed the two orange tabbies must be boys since most are. Nope. All three are girls.

And here’s where the odd comes in on this story. The two orange tabbies are Hemmingway cats.

I have never been sure why they are called that. Did Hemingway have an extra toe? It appears not. Hemingway cats, also known as polydactyl cats, are named that because Ernest Hemingway famously kept a colony of cats at his Key West home, most of whom were polydactyl, meaning they had extra toes. One of the first polydactyl cats Hemingway owned, Snow White, was given to him by a ship’s captain. The colony of cats has become a big attraction at the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum, and the name “Hemingway cats” stuck.

Well, these two sweethearts both have extra toes on their front paws.

After they went to the vet for their first shots, we decided to name them even though we are looking for permanent homes for them. (And Emily is getting spayed next week.)

The smaller of the two orange girls has white gloves on her front paws like her mom. Hemingway’s son with his first wife was Jack, and Jackie Kennedy wore the loveliest white gloves. So she was christened Jackie. The larger orange girl, with the long hair, has been dubbed Hadley, after Hemmingway’s first wife. And the cream-colored beautiful baby is Grace, after Hemingway’s mother, who ruled the roost. So does Hadley the kitten, as the biggest of the three at 3.8 pounds today.

Papa Cat is borderline feral. He finally let the hubs pet him for two seconds last week, because he primarily does the outside feeding, but he still shies away from both of us most of the time. He doesn’t run completely away any more, but he isn’t sure.

So I hadn’t gotten close enough to see his feet, but the vet said mom or dad must be polydactyl and I know it’s not Emily, who has petit white front paws.

At long last, this afternoon, Papa Cat let me close enough to see — he does indeed have extra toes on his front feet.

I have told him again and again that he makes beautiful babies. I find it amazing that none of them look like Emily, who is a silver gray with orange and white spots all over, very petit with a low, gravelly meow.

I know these little sweethearts have the perfect homes waiting for them, and I’m happy about that. Though hearing them wrestling during the night and having them climb our legs when we feed them, and feeling them purr for the first time even before they opened their eyes…I’ll miss it all. But this time, at least this time I’m not saying goodbye to them in a forever way. This time I’ll get to say goodbye knowing they are going on to live long, happy lives.

Animals are such a gift to us. Yes, they are expensive and take a lot of time and work, but I keep playing a phrase I heard over and over in my head. We have so much to do and see in our days. But for them, we are all they have, and what they see is what we show them. They depend on us for so much. Even the barn cats know where their next meal is coming from and that in the cold, they will be warm and in the rain, dry. They will have a lap to snuggle in if they want it.

I can’t help but want to take care of them all. I know the most I can do is take care of the ones we have, and I’m doing the best I can to be OK with that.

But I have a funny feeling, the odd ones are still going to find their way to me. And somehow, I’ll convince the hubs to stick around.

Elisabeth Strillacci covers crime, courts, Spencer, East Spencer and Kannapolis for the Salisbury Post.