She is not my cat; she is actually my mother's cat that decided she would rather live some place other than my mother's house. She had taken up residence in the barn of our neighbor's house when she came to live with me in the city a few years ago. Actually, the best way to put it is she had been pouting in the neighbor's barn for a few months.
Dubbed Missy when mom first got her, she has adjusted to a urban lifestyle from her previous rural life very well.
She has since been micro-chipped through a program offered in the Denver area called "Chip Your Cat" and loves her Barbie pink collar. Since she doesn't care go outside as much as she was previously accustomed meant adjusting her diet to one of an indoor cat. Which, by the way, I must say, she would rather stay inside "her" climate controlled apartment. Missy also expects "her" little planter of winter wheat grass to always be fresh.
Recently she turned twelve years old and has most certainly gotten more set in her ways as the years have passed. Missy has always known her name and answered to it, and now she even knows her nicknames (which due to the immature nature of the people who gave them to her are best not to be repeated here).
She is talkative in her kindest voice and is not afraid to tell you when she is not happy. She enjoys guests that come by her apartment and is a tease for attention by rolling around on her back and begging for pets, treats, or just to be noticed.
This is the cat that has taken over my apartment, although she is kind enough to let me use "her" bed when I need to sleep. I guess I have had worse roommates in the past.