She was the smallest in the litter, a fluffy, black ball of fuzz amid her variegated siblings.  It is odd how the genetic patterns can vary so, even in a litter of five kittens.  Probably had multiple fathers, her mother evidently being quite free with her affections.

My 10 year old son picked her out because she was the only solidly colored kitten, and she seemed more active than the others.  We called her Sugar Rae because she was little, black and feisty.

From the first, she was a pain.  Until she got to know us, she spat and scratched, both us and the furniture.  She was not particularly affectionate, but then suddenly she would decide she had use for the large two-legged hairless ones who wandered through her universe.  She would hop up on a chair arm, putting her black paws on a thigh and stare, unblinking into our faces as though trying to discern if there was any intelligence behind our eyes.

She grew up to be beautiful, fluffy, pitch black.  Even her eyes were dark, usually only showing a small yellow iris around huge black pupils.  For a few years, when we lived in a suburban area close to farmland, we let her run free, and she would bound out past the edges of our yard into high grass, stalking whatever cats stalk, looking like a miniature panther, hunting ferocious bees and mighty chipmunks.

She caught a bird once and brought it to the back door, meowing with this strange strangled noise because her mouth was wide open, full of a small bird body and lots of feathers.  She seemed quite insulted when I would not let her bring it into the house.

She was like some persnickety maiden aunt, moody and reluctant to share her affections.  We were there for her convenience and any entertainment she provided us was purely incidental.  Of course, she would get into bizarre moods and dash through the house, as though high on some illegal substance, jumping a couple of feet into the air at the slightest provocation, making us all laugh and try to make her do it again, but she would never cooperate by doing anything on cue.

Once, she came home injured, and the vet said she had been in a fight, so that was the end of her out-of-doors adventures.  She held me personally responsible for all the ills of her life, and for years would wait for me at the bottom or the top of the stairs and attack my leg, nipping my ankle and then running off in a wild rush of obvious glee at having ‘gotten’ me once again.  If a cat could have cackled, she would have.

Whenever we went on vacation and had a house-sitter, she would treat them like dirt, frequently attacking them for no apparent reason.  Needless to say, she was not well thought of by our houseguests.

The years passed and she slowed down.  She took to parking herself on the arm of the chair in the den whenever someone would sit there to watch television.  She would slowly slide down so that she was half in your lap (usually trapping your arm) and half still on the chair arm, as though unwilling to actually concede that she wanted the companionship.

She got thin and we rarely saw her go off on her little frenzies.  She got so picky about what she would eat, it became like some perverse game.  Yes, I’ll eat chicken and liver bits this week, but next week, I’ll only eat fish, but only after you have stocked up on chicken and liver bits.

Her beautiful coat got scruffy and dull and she slept almost all the time.  This past week, she stopped eating all together.  She didn’t seem to be in any pain, but when she was too weak to drink from her bowl, I knew it was time.

She was seventeen years old, and had generally been a pain in the butt most of that time.  We took her to the vet, and I stroked her bony, scruffy body a few last times as the doctor slipped in the needle that would put her to sleep permanently.  And I cried.  Surprised the hell out of me.  It is amazing how the human heart can find a way to love, despite all the obstacles.