I was at the barn one evening and a lady was there with some kittens.
“You need a kitten,” she said.
“I do, ” I agreed. And I picked out the dilute tortoiseshell and brought her home.
When she was old enough, I took her to be spayed. Something happened during surgery or her clinic visit, but she came back… off. I suspect some brain damage from a bad reaction to the anesthesia during surgery.
It took over a year, but eventually we established the boundaries within which she could live a seemingly happy and normal life. Crossing those boundaries put everyone involved at risk of injury. Even a vet who was experienced with feral cats had never seen anything like her when she hit that panic/rage state.
But when those boundaries were in place, she was as sweet as could be, with a wicked sense of humor.
While unquestionably the most difficult cat I have ever known, she was also one of my all-time favorites.
