Picture a scrawny, 6-month-old kitten, making, at best, a meager living as a stray. Now imagine that kitten being found by someone who has allergies to cats, but has a friend who could use a companion. Enter then, Couscous.

She was found in 1987, about 6 months old, and coerced with a little bit of canned tuna. My friend knew she couldn't take care of her, but figured she could convince me to take it in.

She got her name when I (Brad) tried to say "come, come" and it came out as "cous-cous." I don't know why, it just did. Perhaps it was because she looked a little like couscous. In any case, the phrase stuck. (Her coat has since become much darker.)

Immediately after taking her home (I lived a good thirty miles away) I also took her to the vet. Although scrawny, she was in good health; no worms, diseases, or any of that stuff. However, the vet didn't want to spay her yet, so we just took care of the various vaccinations and getting her fed properly.

If you think spaying is cruel, think again. Check your local "animal shelter" for all the animals who are—or have been—euthanized, because nobody is willing and able to care for them. Declawing, on the other hand, is a barbaric custom.

When she came back home after finally having the spaying operation (and before the anesthesia was completely out of her system), she couldn't even jump to her favorite spot: the back of an overstuffed wing chair, right in front of a wall heater. Being the kind soul I am, I put her there, and she gave me a look that said, "go away, I know what you did to me."

Well, after that, I went to the other side of the room, lay down on the couch and read a magazine. After a short time, I heard a loud thump from the general direction of Couscous' chair. When I looked over, nothing was on top of it. However, walking out from behind the chair was Couscous, with that typical, "I meant to do that" expression. It took me a while to stop laughing; meanwhile, she got something to eat from her food bowl and went into the other room.

In the intervening years, she remained "Brad's Cat." She learned to tolerate Pam, she dealt with most house-sitters amicably when we were gone. (Well, mostly.) As for anyone else, including the children, well, you've never seen a cat run away so fast.

Couscous passed away from the effects of advanced kidney disease in August 2003. She was diagnosed in January, but wouldn't give up. At her last veterinary appointment, she even let the Vet know in no-uncertain-terms that she was unhappy about being there. Fortunately, he didn't need any stitches.

She was always Couscous except for five or six days scattered over those last months. She passed quietly on the morning of 21 August, at home.