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We got him on a scorching hot August day. My roomate and I had offered to take one of her sister's kittens off her hands, and she brought us the last male, a steely gray tabby with bold black stripes. I was in my early twenties, at the tail end of my goth days, and I decided to name him Nightshade, but after watching an episode of South Park, he was renamed Misso Kitty.

Misso Kitty was a terror as a kitten. He frequently teamed up with the dog, a tiny Yorkie, to turn over the garbage and rummage through it. He was a fast and frequent biter of ankles, waiting at the foot of the stairs for an unsuspecting victim. As hard as we tried to keep him inside, he quickly became an outside cat, like his semi-feral mother, and rats and mice and frogs at the nearby creek became his favorite prey.

At about 6 months, he became a whole new cat. He grew into a big, muscular tabby, his coat was sleek and his yellow eyes clear. His swirling black stripes made the shape of an eye on either side of his belly, which we joked he used to sneak up on his rodent victims. He would never sleep in the house, but prowled the acre out back, frightening off other cats, and making life unpleasant for smaller field animals. But when he was inside, he was a lover, not a fighter. He would leap in your lap and let you stroke his head and under his chin, then he would flip onto his back and meow until you rubbed his leopard-spotted belly. He would go wild, grabbing my hand with his paws and purring so loud you could hear it all through the house. My roomate learned to keep her bedroom window open, as in the middle of the night, he would leap up onto the roof, saunter over and sleep with his head and paws resting inside her window.

I moved out after 3 years, but my roommate and her growing family stayed on for another 4. Right before they moved, Misso Kitty left on his morning stroll, and never returned. I like to imagine that he's simply on another adventure, and that he came home to the new occupants and demanded his belly rub, but I will never forget that brave, silky friend. I hope he's got a big yard full of pesky mice, wherever he is.

Learn more about this author, B.D. Bolin.
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