I don't know if I can do justice to everything my cat is to me. I got him in late April in 1996. He was born in February of that year and was the only boy in the bunch. I think that was the start of how protective he was of me. Within hours of bringing him home, he was curved around my boob sleeping peacefully.

He was such an amazing kitten, full of kittenry antics. He stole my heart with how he came when I called him, how he fetched the little fuzzy toys, and how he was connected to me. In fact, he was a reason that my boyfriend at the time got quite upset with me. I got Misha on a when weekend trip home to visit my parents after my second year of university. And when my boyfriend came to pick me up, I couldn't honestly tell him that I missed him because I hadn't really thought about him much because of the little fuzzball that had invaded my life. That didn't go over well, but I'd just adopted my first baby. The boyfriend didn't last.

Misha was with me in all the hard times and all the good times. I was his and he was mine. Unless you've had one as a family member, you can't know what a cat gives back. There is a love and trust that exists that is so unconditional. This isn't to say that every cat has this bond with their humans, but if you put the love in you get it back tenfold.

I'm finding it hard to encapsulate the best of the last 13 years with him. How can I describe the constant companionship? He would go on vacation to my parents home almost every summer for one reason or another. He owned that house almost as much as he owned me. I would miss him a lot and would have to phone my parents every couple days just to talk to him instead of them. At first it confused him a little and he would run to the door looking for me. Then he realized that my voice was coming from the phone. He almost hung up on me several times by nuzzling the phone. And once, I was a brat to my mom who was holding him by asking him if he wanted to go outside. Mom came on the line soon afterward telling me that she just couldn't hold him anymore for some reason. Heh.

Early on, I realized that I would have to ration his food because he had the potential to be a very fat cat. One of his feeding times was first thing in the morning when I woke up. This caused his creativity to really come to life in trying to wake me up. Some of my favourites were sticking his nose right in front of mine then meowing as soon as my eyes fluttered and lying next to my head or on my chest and purring his loudest purr.

Oh could that cat purr! You could hear him in the next room sometimes. I miss that more than anything else, I think. It's what I hear and feel in my chest when I miss him most.

He used to climb people. I taught him that. Then he tried to climb someone wearing a skirt. I stopped teaching him that skill pretty quickly. Heh. He bit my mom's ass once, well actually twice, too. He definitely got supper after that. He was playing blanket monster on my parents' bed and the monster just happened to be my dad's fart. There were tiny kitten claws and screaming involved.

Misha's accomplishments include raising three kittens up right. Teaching them to fight and hunt and protect me. Despite not having any front claws, he managed to bring home many a furry and feathered friend. He was sooo proud the day he brought me a huge robin and very confused when I screamed like I did. The incident with the bat was also very amusing.

He loved being outside so much especially at night. I was always the overprotective mama and didn't like him to be outside. Through my parents not really listening to my overprotectiveness, I lost that too. He ended up getting lost once - for ten days. He eventually found home again, skinny and hungry and lonely. I didn't get to be there for his return, but I would have loved it. He almost smothered mom on his first day home just from sleeping so close to her face that first night. He was happy to be home and didn't go very far after that. He loved his people more than the outside.

I get to visit him whenever I go home now and in my dreams. He's buried out at our acreage which I believe we may have named Apollo's Landing, but that could still change. He is dearly missed.