My cat is mental. As I speak, she is alternately sticking her head between my hand and the keyboard and licking the side of my laptop. Normal cats, once positioned comfortably, are content to sit and purr. Kitten (yes, a very original name), on the other hand, never sits still for long, especially if she is being petted.

She's a farm cat, a gift to my younger brother from my grandparents. Every year their cats would have multiple litters of kittens, and one year Alex became particularly attached to one he and my cousins named "Elmo". This, of course, was before we discovered that he was a she. Kitten was the runt of the litter, with an infection in one of her eyes: usually a sure sign that she wouldn't survive very long, and certainly not through a Minnesota winter. We were in need of an outdoor cat anyway, to keep the rodent population down (the other two cats were still indoor cats, before we gave up and let them roam), and she seemed to be the perfect answer. Alex's birthday falls in early December, just before the worst of winter.  It was decided that we would nurse her back to health, and put her outside to live in Dad's shop once it got warm.

Grandma informed us that the kids were incorrect when they guessed the sex of the tiny kitten, and the general consensus was  that she couldn't be known as "Elmo". Just too weird, having a boy name for a girl cat. We decided to call her "Kitten" for the time being, until we could pick a name that better suited her. As it turns out, through some fluke of years of inbreeding, Kitten is a pretty small cat, so the name fits. The name probably wouldn't seem that weird if our first cat wasn't called "Black Kitty." In our defense, he was named by my sister and myself, at the ages of  1 and 3 years. To us, an accurate description worked quite well for a name. But we seem to have set a disturbing precedent: what will be next: Calico? (although, we could call her Cally . . . that would be kind of cute) Stripy? Orange? A simple "Cat"?

For the first few years, Kitten was deathly afraid to go outside. Socks, the first cat we adopted after Kitty died, was more than happy to take care of the pests, however. Not quite what we had envisioned, but the system worked. Kitten will go outside now, but is still easily frightened (part of her slight insanity--or perhaps it's a survival instinct, due to her size and past as a farm cat.)

I guess the weird thing is that she just doesn't act like a normal cat--or like Kitty, who acted like a dog. She's not aloof, but actively seeks out attention. She's very easily startled, and though this is true with all our cats (especially Jinx), her reactions seem to be more intense. It probably doesn't help that I once accidently slammed her in my bedroom door. She seemed a bit more twitchy around me after that (but no more than with anyone else, today), and still will not go through doors if someone has their hand on the knob or handle. And she licks weird things--like my laptop. Mom thinks she likes the salt from my hands, which I guess makes sense, but I've never seen a cat do such a thing before.

Now that I've written it all out, maybe she's not such an odd cat after all. Sure, she has her quirks, but that's what's fun about cats: they all have their own personalities, just like we do.

She also blends in quite well with some blankets, though no one has sat on her (yet).