Meet Mysti.

She is a sassy 14-year-old cat that was the first of the fur babies I adopted on my own. I hate to admit this in writing, but I doubt she’s going to read this – she wasn’t my first pick of the litter. GASP! I feel awful saying that.

It was just after college, and I was living on my own. I wanted a companion. A dog seemed like too much work and a cute little kitty cat seemed just right. I went to the local shelter and perused the felines up for adoption for quite a while wanting to be sure to make the right decision. This was a big step for me. And then I was drawn to a little black kitten.

“Oh, you’ve never had a pet before?”

“Well, yes, I have. I’ve had cats and dogs growing up as family pets, just not on my own.”

“It would probably be better for you to pick another cat. That cat has an eye infection right now and would need extra care.”

I didn’t even want to look around anymore at the poor cats that needed homes. I just left and called my mom from the car and cried. “But (sniffle) I (sniffle) jjjjust wanted to love that kitten and take care of it, and they told me I wasn’t good enough.” I was crushed.

“You’ll find the right kitten for you. There will be one that’s meant for you.” My mother reassured me and kept her ears open for anyone who might have kittens that needed homes. I couldn’t imagine going back to a shelter and risk going through that heartbreak again.

It just so happened that my aunt’s nephew’s cat had a litter of kittens that would need homes when they were ready to be weened from their Mama cat. So I patiently waited, and when it came time my mother, aunt, and uncle came with me to find my feline friend.

The kitten that immediately caught me attention was a calico boy. He’d already been spoken for. Then, there she was, this crazy gray kitten climbing up a Ficus tree. Not spoken for. So I spoke for her.

What to name her, what to name her …. “Natalie?”

“No, she doesn’t look like a Natalie,” my mom said.

As we walked through the misty rain back to the car it seemed simple. “Mysti, I’ll call her Mysti, M-Y-S-T-I.”

I should have know that I had my hands full with the only one of the litter climbing up the Ficus tree. She has been a handful for 14 years. Our most recent challenge: getting pissed off.

A few months ago, after falling asleep on the couch with my boys Beeker (14-year-old tuxedo cat adopted a few months after Mysti … another story for later) and Walker (seven-year-old puggle, but in the eyes of Mysti, enemy #1 since he joined our family two years ago, you can read more about him here) I woke up at around 2am and headed up to bed. Mysti doesn’t leave the second floor of the house. Not since the introduction of the puggle monster. It was a chilly night and the sheets and blankets were cold so it was hard to notice at first, but then I felt the wetness. Mysti peed in my bed!

I took her to the vet, discovered it was a urinary tract infection. Treated it with antibiotics (have you ever given pills to a cat? make that a SASSY, STUBBORN cat? not fun!) and things seemed to be fine. She was not allowed in my room unless I was with her until she finished her medication. All good. We were fine. Until last week …

AGAIN! Pee. In. My. Bed. This can’t keep happening! Back to the vet to spend more money we go! But this time, nothing. No infection. No explanation for why she chooses to use the Serta Perfect Sleeper as a litter box. She’s just being fresh. She’s pissed off! The vet gives me some suggestions of things to try, and $120 later I AM PISSED OFF having to pay to have her piss tested just to find out that she was just pissed off.

Later that day as I was heating up dinner I told my roommate and her friend the story. “I think she’s pissed off that I spend more time with Beeker and Walker and when I fall asleep on the couch and don’t go to bed right away to snuggle with her she’s just like ‘I’ll show her …’ and pees in my bed.”

“She never comes downstairs?” asks the roommate’s friend.

“No, not since Walker came into the picture. I’ve caught her a couple of times come down and hide behind the chair in the living room, but … GASP!”

That little biyatch strutted into the kitchen like she owns it! Now. NOW that she has gotten me to shell out mucho dinero she decides to come around. And she was all like gently meowing and purring and being friendly. Doesn’t event leave the room when Walker comes in.

I know she knows that I know that she was pissed off and that she pissed me off.