I once lived with a cat named Pandora. Never again will I name an animal after a goddess who unleashed all those evils upon the earth. Pandora was very anti-social and if she had been human probably would have been a subject for an episode of Criminal Minds. I got her as a kitten so she had never been abused and was pampered and spoiled for her entire existence (she lived to be sixteen in spite of being diabetic for most of her life). But she used her teeth and claws as methods of expressing her displeasure. My daughter Heather nicknamed her Psycho Cat.
It's not that she never showed affection. She would on occasion snuggle up to me and ask to be petted. Of course I would oblige. Three pats later she would bare her teeth and bite. She had her limits as to the physical contact she would allow and three pets was it. She would only warm up to Heather when she brought chicken fingers home as a snack. Then she was Pandora's best friend- until the chicken fingers were gone. Then the teeth and claws came out.
I remember house sitting a cat named Diablo for a friend. He made Pandora look like a model citizen of the cat world. He climbed curtains, pounced on passers-by from the top of the refrigerator and shredded most of my friend's furniture. He would run from one end of the house to the other as if the demons of hell were chasing him.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, another friend had a beautiful Persian she named Angel. True to her name, she never caused a moment's distress. She was dainty and obedient and I could swear she even asked permission to shed.
On the other hand, Pandora was certainly anything but boring and her antics often left me doubled over in laughter. Maybe that's why she acted up; cats don't like to be laughed at. She also willingly submitted to the two needles a day I had to give her for eight years for her diabetes. She never turned a hair at that.
The cat I live with now is called Zoey which means "life" in Greek. That's a picture of her at the top of the page. It's an apt name for her as she enjoys every bit of life that comes her way with a sunny disposition and a gentle touch.
I know there are probably calm cats out there called Tasmanian Devil and cats from the dark side called Lovey, but I have no intentions of taking a chance. The next cat I share my home with will be called Sunshine or Meadow Mist or Princess. No, scratch that last one; cats don't need any encouragement to think of themselves as royalty.
The strange thing is, that of all the cats I ever lived with, I think I miss Pandora the most.