I am Kitteh, hear me meow

She's been with me for eight years now; I got her when she was only three months old, a wee black thing with one white whisker, who reached up to smell my face and then kissed my nose. She was female, so I didn't name her Gobbolino, but Eskarina suited her down to the ground.

I call her my little dog, because she likes nothing better than being around her people - even though she doesn't like being stroked (the hunim touch must be avoided! Well, most of the time). If I'm sitting on the couch, reading, as I did most of today, she wants to snuggle up against my leg and stretch out so I can stroke her soft tummy. Her lips are going grey with age now, as are the hairs on the inside of her legs and across her ankles.

She's still one of the most agile of my six cats. And she still drapes comfortably when slung across a shoulder. She has the most pathetic mew in the world, and she's not above pretending to be injured to get an extra tidbit. She looks like a little meerkat when she stretches up on her hind legs to see what I'm holding in my fingers, and the look of disdain she shoots me when she discovers that my fingers are empty, makes me laugh every time.

She's the best hot water bottle I could ever ask for, the quietest sleeping companion when MadCat's away, the bitchiest kitty matriarch ever spawned and the friendliest of my felines - the only one to use when introducing a new cat, a dog, or kids.

I love the way she wanders into the computer room if I've been away for a while, and climbs onto my monitor, rests her head over the top so she can look at me, then goes to sleep.

Love you, Pesky one. Some fishy food on the way for treats.