I never was much of a people cat, and I preferred it that way. Growing up in a shelter solidified that fact. Other kittens at the shelter would roll around and bat their eyes at anyone who spared them a glance, and after a long day of showing off to them they'd come up to me, wanting me to play with them.

Really I just wanted to be left alone.

All I needed was me, myself, and I. So it was quite a shocker the day when one of those humans pointed at me and said "yes, that one." My life was turned upside down. The new territory I was brought into was, to my delight, much bigger then the shelter home. There was just one teensy issue-- it reeked of other cat. An old tabby named Missy had already established her claim there and I wanted no part in that. None!

For a long time I resigned myself to a life of crawling around under couches and behind the big picture box in the living room. I couldn't of cared less about the house folk, they tried to coax me out so many times. I always ran. This lasted for a while until they eventually realized everyone was better off leaving me alone.

Except for Missy. She was a mama cat type-- the sweetheart kind that sticks their nose in everyone's business, and that usually included checking up on scared antisocial kittens hiding under the couch. Missy went out of her way to make sure I was comfortable. She stared at me with those bright green eyes and coaxed me to come out-- "Come show yourself to the housefolk, little one! You shouldn't stay cooped up under there." She mewed. I hissed, batting my claws at her, and replied I'd come out when I'm good and ready. Despite my harshness, Missy would not be deterred. She'd smile and come back later, never failing to look for me, even when nobody else did. It took some time but eventually I was given the whole house tour by her. Room by room.

I started to come out more and more after a while. I still never let the humans near me-- they were forced to admire me from a distance. My favorite spot-- aside from my various hidey holes-- was by the window. Missy also claimed to enjoy the window a lot, even though she usually lorded over the spare bedroom, and I was convinced she started staying there to bother me. Too many times I'd wake up to find her scooching over to lie next to me. Really this cat just wouldn't get the message! Well, eventually she did. Our interactions by the window became fewer and fewer. She never did stop being sweet, even when I blew her off to watch squirrels. I learned through our talks and whispers around the house that Missy used to have kittens. That didn't surprise me, but then I learned that she'd always had a companion cat with her over her many years, and it all clicked while I counted the faces of other cats hanging around the house.

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No, I didn't feel bad, I valued my solitude and my many roommates respected that. Try as I might I couldn't force myself to hang out with Missy, but whenever she tried to strike up conversation from that day on I stayed tolerant and polite. From the smile on that cats face, that was all she ever really wanted.

I grew from a kitten to a cat. Missy grew slower and I could've sworn more grey hairs dappled her face by the day. The humans noticed too, and I watched their daily routines change to include her more and more.

It wasn't long before she got sick. She was rushed to the vet-- that word never failed to make my skin crawl-- and she was gone. For three days I was alone, and yet considering the circumstances I couldn't bring myself to enjoy it. When she returned she was so much skinnier and was hardly able to stand. I twitched my ears to listen in on the reason why-- kidney failure. Nothing could be done, and seeing her face as she was laid in the cat bed, I made an executive decision.

Jumping down from my shadowed perch I emerged where everyone saw me. All eyes were on me and it was like they were looking at a ghost, the nerve of them. I trotted over to Missy with my tail held high and sniffed her face. She smelled drugged up, and I knew it wouldn't be much longer. We stared at each other, and she didn't say a word to me-- just smiled and accepted my company.

She passed away peacefully in her sleep. I silently thanked her for looking out for me the past two years and left the room.

It took time but things went back to normal in the end. Life goes on, the usual. I went back to my routine, and a few months later another cat was brought into the house. Another kitten in fact, who is much wilder and outgoing then I ever was, and so far he's growing into a fine cat. It's always a riot watching him chase after the humans when they play. Even I know that red dot can't be caught. He's still really small though, and won't listen when I try to tell him. We hardly interact even now but he knows I'm looking out for him-- I always will be, I prefer it that way.