Where to begin? Woody the Bitch Cat from Hell. She never weighed over 4 or 5 pounds, but her presence was enormous. She was the most beautiful buff color with very long hair. I guess that’s why she looked so big. But, she was a tiny cat who dreamed of being a tiger.

Woody was 10 or 11 years old when she was foisted upon, er, gifted to me by my sister, Susan. Susan wasn’t much of a cat person, but she had wound up with a conure, a small parrot, that she named "Big Bird." Big Bird had escaped from his previous owner and had been captured in a Gold’s Gym where her daughter worked out down in Tallahassee, Florida.

So, Susan needed a cage for Big Bird. She saw a large one in the window of a small shop she stopped off at coming back from a trip to South Georgia. When she went in to check on it, there was Woody, sitting in the bird cage. Susan inquired about buying the cage and was told that if she bought the cage, she had to take the cat too. So that’s how Woody came into our family. Susan soon discovered that Woody had been declawed on all four feet. This makes a cat totally psycho, and Woody was no exception. She was one weird cat with a propensity to chomp down and draw blood even in the midst of being petted.

I can’t remember exactly how it was decided that Woody should come live with me, but she did. For the remaining years of Woody’s life, she shared my home and bed. She wasn’t much on regular cat toys, but she filched a small oval sponge out of a set of bath products someone had given me and claimed it as her own. It was her most prized possession, and she carried it around, tossed it up in the air, batted, and played with it incessantly. I found some spongy foam golf balls at the pet store that she also played with. She had them in several colors and wore out a number of them over the years. She was down to just one, a red one, which she always put in her kibble dish so she could find it.

I have a large stuffed toy tiger that lives on the back of my sofa. Woody knew it was another cat. Her favorite place to be was on the sheepskin draped over my sofa lying behind the tiger. We started calling it “Woody’s tiger” because of the way she always snuggled up behind it and spent most of her time there. I think Woody visualized herself as a tiger, and I once did a Photoshop melding of her face with the face of a tiger.

The last year, when she was 22, Woody began losing her hair, and at one point her tail was totally bald. But she rallied, and most of it grew back. She loved to sleep on my chest, her nose against mine, where she’d purr non-stop. As it became apparent that she was failing, I began to wonder if I would wake up one morning with a dead cat on my chest.

She became ravenously hungry all the time, and would consume a whole can of cat food every day. She also drank lots of water and started to prefer to sleep on the tiled floor in front of the refrigerator. The vet suspected that she had a thyroid condition, but said that as old as she was, he couldn’t even treat her for it.

I  think she was dying for a year before she finally let me know that it was time to go Home. I began to have strange experiences which I don’t think were dreams. I’d get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and would encounter Woody in the bathroom. I’d reach down to pet her and my hand would go straight through her to the floor. Then I’d notice that she seemed to be made of densely packed little sparkles of light, even though she looked quite solid. One time when it happened, I was sure she had died and went looking for her. She was in her space in front of the refrigerator and raised her head and said "Meow" when I called her.

I told my sister about these episodes, and we laughed and said that Woody was practicing being dead and was wandering around out of her body. At last, Woody began losing control of her bladder and bowels and couldn’t make it to the litter box. She couldn’t clean herself up and began to look so pitiful that I knew it was time to help her cross over.

A neighbor went with me to the vet to have her put down. I held her in my arms and told her over and over again that she was the best kitty in the world and that I was so glad she spent so much of her life with me.

I remember saying, "Woody, I want you to come back to me when you’re ready, and I want you to let me know that it’s you." Interestingly enough, the doctor who came to administer the anesthesia prior to the final shot, was named Dr. Light. It didn’t even take the final shot. As the anesthesia entered her veins, Woody sighed and let go.

After Woody passed, I gave away her food bowls, scratching post, bed, toys, and other cat possessions to a friend who has cats. This was over two years ago. I’ve had the opportunity to get another cat many times since. My upstairs neighbor recently tried to get me to take a male gray and white kitten that was very cute and playful, but I just knew it wasn’t the cat for me. She wound up adopting it herself.

A week or so ago, I went to PetSmart to get dog food and was drawn to stop in the adoption center to see the cats. One beautiful kitten, a five-month-old lynx point Siamese mix, stuck both its front paws through the cage bars trying to reach me, purring and meowing loudly. It was as if she was saying "Please take me home to live with you." I fell in love on the spot. When I got home, I filled out the FurKids adoption form on-line and specified this kitten. I figured if she was meant to be mine, my application would be chosen.

I was notified several days later that I was the chosen one! I went and picked up my new kitten, that just happens to have tiger stripes on her flanks, and I’ve named her “Rachel Meowdow” in honor of MSNBC television host Rachel Maddow. She has made herself totally at home and has already let the dogs know that she’s the boss. I had made preparations for her coming by buying a new litter box, scratching post, and one of those cat fishing poles with feathers and fun stuff on the end. I figured I’d buy her more toys as time goes by.

The other night, I went into the bathroom to check on Miz Rachel. She was lying on the rug playing with something which she clutched between her paws. I looked closer. It was a somewhat worse-for-wear red spongy foam golf ball!

I have no idea where Rachel Meowdow got the red ball as my house has been cleaned from top to bottom numerous times in the past 2+ years. I can't help but believe that my old Woody Puss has come back to me and remembered where she hid her red ball. This time she’s got claws on all four feet!

The other night, I went into the bathroom to check on Miz Rachel. She was lying on the rug playing with something which she clutched between her paws. I looked closer. It was a somewhat worse-for-wear red spongy foam golf ball!

I have no idea where Rachel Meowdow got the red ball as my house has been cleaned from top to bottom numerous times in the past 2+ years. I can't help but believe that my old Woody Puss has come back to me and remembered where she hid her red ball. This time she’s got claws on all four feet!