by Jim Bessey

Created on: October 21, 2009

Her name was Princess, and that cat earned her title every day. Princess owned our home and everything in it. She expected her needs to be met first, not later. She was picky about who could touch her, but demanding when she wanted attention. She was a first class example for all other cats to follow. She also liked to puke on our white living room carpet; but that was our fault, not hers, of course.

I met Princess when she was already seven years old. She was a long-haired domestic of indeterminate breed, mostly black and gray but with a bit of white and tan sprinkled in. She was the cherished companion for my new girlfriend's daughter, Denise (not her real name). I was the interloper. I've had dogs all my life, so I've never really been a 'cat person.' Princess probably sensed that right away.

At first, neither Denise nor her cat liked me much. Navigating my way through a new relationship, I'd hoped to win Denise's heart and cared little about the feline's feelings. Cats are smarter than we like to admit. I think Princess - "Miss P" to Denise - understood the situation perfectly. She knew Denise would adore her no matter how prissy or aloof she acted. Miss P had other plans for me.

I believe that sneaky cat deliberately set out to win me over. After all, she was accustomed to being adored, not ignored. She was devious in her attempts to woo me, however. Part of her plan was to spread thousands of tufts of her flowing fur all around the house. She left her furry gifts on my chair, in the kitchen, and all over the living room carpet. I'm not a clean freak, but there's a limit to what I can tolerate. I spent hours trying to clean up after her. I'm sure she used to watch me and snicker.

I tried to convince my fiance (let's call her Lydia) and her daughter that all Miss P needed was a good, regular brushing. Lydia bought a good cat brush and gave it to Denise for safe keeping. "Princess won't let me brush her," they both agreed. Maybe they snickered, too, when I was out of earshot. I knew my plan was sound, but I didn't realize that I'd be the one who had to carry it out. At first I actually believed I was proving to both girls that brushing the cat was easy. Miss P pretended she hated those brushing sessions, too. Sometimes she would bite me.

I showed her who was boss. I brushed her better. I became an expert cat groomer, keenly attuned to which techniques worked best. It was weeks before I realized that all three girls - girlfriend, daughter, and Princess

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