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After my mother had foot surgery, she was very down and depressed about being cooped up in the house for two months. I invited her out with me to go pick up dog food.

We found a PetSmart that carried it, and she rolled off in her wheelchair to look for it while I did a not-so-subtle driveby of the Kitty Angels. There was a beautiful white tortoiseshell cat that started mewing and head butting the window. When my mom came over to see what I was up to, the little cat rolled over on her back and cried out again.

She was beautiful and very friendly, purring and making my mom smile, but, to my dismay, we were informed she didn't get along with other cats at all. We had two other cats at home - one of them an elder - and they had to come first, so the woman put the pretty kitty back and offered to show us another. I halfheartedly agreed.

She let out a small gray female, skittish in nature, scared of the other cats after being bullied by them for so long. She had stumpy little legs and her ears were too small for her head. We decided to try it. If she couldn't get along with our other cats, we'd bring her back. They told me she was shy, she made a mess of her litter box, and she didn't like to be held.

PetSmart lied to me. In two months, she'll have been here a year. She doesn't meow but squeaks like a broken dog toy. She can't jump all that well, but she'll chase my other cats around until they all flop over in a heap. She crawls onto my back while I'm reading and insists on lounging on my husband's legs when he gets home from work.

We are all under agreement that she is the best thing to ever have been brought home. She is not the cat I wanted, but she is the cat I fell in love with.