Cleo was a beautiful Calico who decided to adopt me sixteen years ago. In fact, I had about a month before I was supposed to move up to Vermont to get married, and I already had one cat, Puss.

A mama cat had given birth to a litter somewhere near my apartment building, and I couldn't believe that no one wanted these adorable kittens!

Being the softie I am, I was feeding them. But I didn't take any in, because I was moving in so short a time and because I didn't think Puss would look too favorably on that. She'd been my baby for a whole year.

I asked my husband to be what he thought. He wasn't really sure about one cat, much less two. I tried to persuade him that this could be "his" cat, since I was so clearly the center of Puss's world.

Obviously, eventually I took her in. I couldn't take in the whole litter, so I chose the one with the strongest personality, thinking that she could hold her own. Little did I know that she would become alpha cat. She terrorized poor Puss. In reality, I think she just wanted to play, but Puss was a wimp. Still, Puss learned to tolerate her, even if she never really liked her. Although they would sometimes sleep on the same couch or bed, they never slept together or groomed each other. Cleo liked to "attack" Puss, but Puss was not amused.

I still remember giving her a flea bath. I'd never even seen fleas before! She must have grown ten legs, each armed with vicious scimitar claws.

But they both survived the move up to Vermont, then the move down to Texas in our small apartment, and finally the move to our more spacious house. My husband thinks they miss the stairs we had in Vermont, but I think the tradeoff in sunshine is probably appreciated.

Cleo has always had occasional bouts of vomiting. She'd go on for a couple of weeks, a couple of times a week. The vet originally thought that she just ate too fast. And she'd be fine for months. She's also a dog in a cat's body. Loves to eat people food; almost anything — pepperoni, chips, ice cream, and bread (strangely enough) — are particular favorites. She loves to be with people. She follows me around the house like a puppy dog. She can amuse herself for hours with a twist tie. She can get at anything in the garbage that she wants — doesn't matter how far down it is, or even if the bag is tied.

For years I've called her my stress ball, because she loves to be held on my shoulder. She's always been there for me when I'm lonely or upset.

Lloyd never tires of telling the Ben & Jerry's story. Cleo loved ice cream. Of course, she loved just about anything that was food. She loved to eat!

Anyway, one day we gave her an empty Ben & Jerry's pint to lick. She shoved her head right in to the bottom, but then the pint got stuck on her head!

She ran around our condo, desperate to get this attacker off her head, shaking her head back and forth. We wanted to help, but were laughing so hard we couldn't move.

Eventually she managed to dislodge the pint. This didn't discourage her from ice cream in the future, though.

Cleo was never much of a lap cat. She loved to be held though. She loved the sun, and would change her positions around the house, moving around to catch a few rays.

She'd sometimes flop over on the floor, and stretch herself out fully. This was a signal for a pet or two on her tummy — but no more. Too many tummy rubs resulted in a light nip or a swat of her paws.

She never went outdoors from the day I brought her home. She'd walk up to a door — ever curious why the door was open — and then just sit down and look out.

Cleo was a terrible beggar. She'd wait quietly through a meal, then meow the minute one of us got up. Of course, we created this behavior because we let her lick our plates. A turn of the can opener would bring her running, or the opening of the mayonnaise jar. She knew mayo = tuna, and she was definitely a tuna junkie. If we ate at the coffee table, which we do occasionally, she'd wait patiently between our knees for a tasty morsel to drop. Who needed a dustbuster when Cleo was around?

A couple of Cleo's nicknames were Buddha cat (because of her buddha-like stomach in her heyday) and Butthead, because she loved to butt her head against yours if you were sitting on the couch. I could sit on the floor and call her name in a special voice, and she'd come running to rub her body against mine.

We were shocked the day we discovered twinkie wrappers were another particular favorite. She'd come running at the sound of a twinkie wrapper, or dig it out of the garbage and lick it all over the house.

On April 23, 2001, eleven months to the day of her diagnosis, Cleo lost her battle with CRF. She lies in our backyard resting beneath a rose bush, where I can see her grave from the window seat she loved.