Back in the 1970s I shared a house with various friends, including Bonnie Shaljean, and it was decided we should have a cat as there was evidence of past rodent problems. So we had two calico sibling cats, Felicity and Dunstable. When they first arrived, we were convinced that Felicity was a female and Dunstable was a male, based on Felicity's neat posture and Dunstable's total lack of sense of dignity - we didn't know at the time that calico toms are very rare indeed. Eventually we realised that they were both female, by which time we had two litters of kittens, one of whom went back to my parents and became their much loved Cato.
Both cats tended to pee in the front hall, but were good company and provided some great moments of entertainment - Bonnie, if you're reading this, remember the dead squirrel? It had been left by the side of my bed one morning, and, half-asleep, I couldn't work out what to do with it so I went and put it in the kitchen bin. Bonnie came across it when throwing a tea bag away and to judge by the scream it was a bit of a shock (which I suppose it would have been).
In due course we all went our separate ways and I went to live in France, and both cats went to live with a couple of older women friends of mine up in Nottingham. Felicity didn't last long there as there was another cat already, so she took herself off (and we assume found somewhere else to live, as she was a resourceful cat). Dunstable, on the other hand, absolutely loved her new home and when I visited some time later she showed off just how rich and luxuriant her coat now was. I was left in no doubt that she preferred things as they were, and she had no wish to return to me, ever!