She is a cat, without question. She sleeps the day away, and races through the rooms at night, chasing imaginary mice and fantastical birds. She loves to be up high, and to bat with her paw at whatever passes her by. She is finicky about her food; one kind and one kind only, and she meows incessantly if her bowl is empty. Yes, she is a cat, but sometimes…

I think she forgets, and rather thinks she is a person.

She has to have a cup, just like mine, to drink her water out of, or she will drink whatever I happen to have in mine. She prefers iced green tea or water, but will drink diet Dew if that’s all we have. She comes when I call her name, looks when I point things out to her, and sits on my lap and watches television. And when I’m on the phone, she knocks things off my coffee table and couch, one at a time, each followed by that wide-eyed look of expectation, just to remind me that my attention is not where it should be.

That’s my MissRissa.