My son, Jeremy, is convinced that I will one day be a "crazy cat lady" with a vast collection of meowing little furballs; and a quiz I once took on Facebook confirmed it, so it must be true! It takes every ounce of fortitude for me to not go to the Humane Society of Huron Valley on Free Feline Fridays when, according to their Web site, "any cat over 7 months old is eligible for a FREE adoption ... Plus adopt one get one FREE!" (2 for the price of none??? Be still my heart!)

I would like it said at my funeral -- sometime long after Willard Scott's eventual replacement has announced my 100th birthday -- that anyone, whether 2- or 4-footed, who ever needed a hug, a meal, a bed or a home could find one at my house. And so, when I was at Pet Supplies Plus the other day and saw the fateful sign -- "Gerbil with injured foot: free to good home" -- I knew I would be bringing home a new member of the family.

I couldn't believe that the gerbil might still be available -- who wouldn't want to take her home? But I could see a critter hiding in the back of her tank, so I asked what the status was. The very nice saleswoman I spoke with told me, "She became snake food." Oh, the poor little thing. So that's how she got injured? No -- that's what the saleswoman thought had happened to the gerbil once it had been discovered she was hurt!  After seeing my combined horror and sorrow over such a fate, she offered to check on the gerbil just to make sure she hadn't made a mistake ... which, fortunately, she had.

The little blonde gerbil was alive and perfectly fine, just waiting for someone to fall in love with her and take her home. She had apparently escaped by accident over the weekend, and had managed to injure herself somehow while out and about on her adventure. (What happens at the pet store stays at the pet store!) But otherwise, she was fine and the injury wasn't hampering her in any way. So, if I wanted a gerbil I could have one.

Of course, despite having at various times welcomed numerous cats, a couple of dogs,

a pot-bellied pig, a vile and obnoxious Quaker parrot, parakeets (one of whom used to dance to the Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer!"), a guinea pig and even rats into our home before, we had no supplies left for a cute little rodent. Our nest has become emptied over the years, and we had reduced our home's pet population to just a cat (Bummie) and a dog (Fuzzybutt) with no extraneous supplies. So after the enormously friendly and sincerely helpful staff at the store encouraged the adoption, I bought a cage and a water bottle and bedding and food. My "free" gerbil was ready to brave the cold for the ride home.

Jeremy had wanted turtles for Christmas (not having received them for Chanukkah), but I made an executive decision to substitute something cute and cuddly for something that would just sit or, worse, hide in its shell. He was thrilled to welcome our new baby, whom he initially named Abigail. But Abigail soon became Molly, after "Molly Malone" -- a song sung by Jeremy's current obsession, the Irish folk group The Dubliners.

Needless to say, Bummie and Fuzzybutt were none too keen on sharing Mom's and Jeremy's attention and affection with an interloper. They would happily have named the gerbil "Hors D'Oeuvre" or "Amuse Bouche" and dispensed with her right away!

But the adjustment period has gone smoothly, and Bummie has taken up his usual self-made dent in the back of our sofa. Fuzzybutt -- who is usually curled up on a sofa cushion, when not hoarding a desiccated stick of string cheese as though it's her "Precious" -- still occasionally tries to scare Molly. But I think the thrill of picking on the youngest sibling is wearing off quickly. We are all just one big(ger) happy family!

Mary Bilyeu has won or placed in more than 60 cooking contests, and usually writes about food for AnnArbor.com. But she is always proud and happy to talk about her family ... including the furry members! You can contact Mary at yentamary@gmail.com.

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