Like most Burmese females, she was tiny, like a toy cat, and since she didn’t discover that she had an Oriental-type yowl until she was three, making only tiny “skeeking” sounds until then, we called her Skeeky Toy. She became my alter ego, my soul mate. She lived until the ripe old age of 17 ½, and I treasured her the entire time.

She was a benevolent despot

Her favorite thing to do, better for her even than eating, sleeping or playing, was giving her own two humans orders. Now, all cats tend to be bossy little creatures, and Burmese are even bossier than most. But Burmese females are world-class order-givers.

For example, I left an ironing board up all the time when I was working so that every evening I could quickly iron my clothes for the next day. Skeeky would jump up onto the ironing board and skeek (or yowl) until one of us, either Kermit or me, would come running to give her some Pounce treats. Frequently, she wouldn’t be satisfied until both of us had given her treats. Sometimes she’d even ignore the treats once they arrived: having us at her beck and call was the real “treat” for her.

She didn’t like for me to sing. Since even my mother once told me that I sounded like a frog, I guess I can’t blame Skeeky for wanting to avoid that particular listening experience. However, one time Skeeky was on my lap and I particularly felt like singing. So I did. She woke up and yowled (she was older at this time) at me to shut up. I kept singing. She stood up on my lap and yowled directly into my nose. I still kept singing. So she slapped me! No claws, no damage, but clear intent: SHUT UP. So I did.

Another time I was working on one of our textbooks and was, as usual, behind schedule. Skeeky was demanding attention. Being told, “don’t bother Mommy now. I’ll play with you later” did no good at all. She kept jumping up into my lap and walking across the computer keyboard. With sometimes quite devastating consequences. So I thought I’d “teach” her. I picked her up, sat her up on my lap, facing out, and, while singing, “Patty cake, patty cake, Baker’s Man,” played “Patty cake” with her tiny paws. Since, as I’ve mentioned, she hated my singing, I thought that this would make her go away. Sure enough, soon she struggled to get away. I put her down. She ran to the door of the room. And then ran back, yowling some more. I picked her up and played with her again. And again. And again. After about 16 episodes, I noticed that although she was struggling, she was also purring! She was delighted! Look at all the things that she was getting to make Mommy do!

We, of course – which is probably evidence of total insanity – were delighted to obey her orders. We had as much fun as she did!

She was fearless

Kermit once told me that he thought Skeeky was not too terribly bright. I thought it over and realized that he thought that way because she simply did not learn to avoid anything. But that wasn’t out of stupidity! After all, look at how well, and how quickly, she trained us. No, it’s just that she was absolutely fearless, and saw no need to have to avoid anything. In fact, I had to lock her away from my computer room any time I printed with my daisy wheel printer. Despite the incredibly loud sounds the printer emitted, Skeeky was determined to “catch” the daisy wheel. Since that wheel moved fast enough, and with enough force, to crush a finger, I had to make sure to keep her well away from it when it was in action.

This bravado started when we first brought her home. I tried to go through the usual “introduce new cat to a home with other cats” routine, but she escaped and began running through the house. Delighted. Then she ran into Red Chief (from O'Henry's, "The Ransom of Red Chief), our exotic short hair. Chief was very large, and when he fluffed himself up, hissing and growling, with tail lashing, I was impressed. Skeeky wasn’t. She bounced up to him, stood on her tippy-toes, and slapped him across the face. Then ran off.

When in Montana during the summers, we’d often spend the afternoon outside the travel trailer, which became very hot in the summer sun. So I’d take my writing stuff out, and Skeeky, Tomahawk (our Havana Brown) and Red Chief (our exotic short hair) would all go out with me. The first summer that Skeeky spent in Montana, I let the cats out as usual. Very shortly afterwards, we heard loud “skeeks” coming from somewhere. Frantically, we searched. We finally found her: she fallen down a well (since the well was only six feet deep, the bottom thoroughly covered in leaves, the only part of Skeeky that was injured was her dignity. The next afternoon I let her out again, this time following her. She ran as fast as she could to the well. With me following as fast as I could. Would she fall in again? No. She stopped suddenly, at the very edge, and then spent the next several minutes bawling the well out. Then, convinced that she’d properly disciplined the offending well, she stalked off, tail held high.

Another time, the boys came running back to the trailer, demanding entry (even in the heat). We all went inside. But I immediately got worried about Skeeky: what had frightened the boys so much, and where was she? So out I went, calling. And, of course, getting ignored. Next to the trailer was a cabin that we had slid down to that location: the cabin was still propped up on its skid logs, leaving quite a bit of room underneath. And the strangest growling, hissing sound was coming from beneath the cabin. When I bent down to look, I saw a badger. Since badgers are notoriously aggressive – willing to attack anything – I quickly became frantic. I ran around the cabin, and finally spotted Skeeky at the rear. She was heading as fast as her little legs could carry her to where she could get underneath the cabin, running to go and play with the badger! I launched myself into a flying tackle and managed to grab a tail. I hauled her off to the trailer, where the four of us spent the next several hours. With her scolding me most of that time: I’d spoiled her fun!

Only once did she behave out of character with her fearless nature – and, as it turned out, that was a sham. Shortly after our Tomahawk, our Havana Brown male, matured, Skeeky fooled both of us, at least for a while. We thought he was picking on her, terrorizing her. After all, we would see him chasing her through the house. Since he was larger, with much longer legs, he always caught her. Whereupon she’d yell, as though she were being disemboweled. At least one of us humans – and usually both – would come running to rescue her. This went on until I finally saw how one of these chasing episodes actually began. Tom was sleeping peacefully. Skeeky came up and gave him a small swat, then ran off. He ignored her. She ran back, and whacked him harder. He still ignored her. Then she bit him. At that point, she ran off with Tom in hot pursuit. This time when he caught her and she began to yell, I just ignored her. It didn’t take long for her to catch on: they would still play chase, but she would no longer yell upon being caught.

Once she fell behind the refrigerator. Even then, she was more angry than frightened. She spent quite a bit of time on top the refrigerator: it was as though she regarded it as her throne, the place from which to survey the activities of her human slaves. But on this particular day, she slipped, and fell behind the thing. She began bellowing. Both of us came running, as fast as we could. Without thinking, Kermit tilted the refrigerator forward (being on carpet, it wouldn’t slide out) while I perched on the counter, ready to grab Skeeky as soon as I could reach her. Well, can you predict the consequences? We didn’t, and so with considerable surprise we watched the door fall open and the entire contents of the refrigerator slide out onto the floor. But Skeeky was really happy to be rescued.

She thought of herself as a mighty huntress

She was proud of her hunting. But for no good reason. Her idea of hunting was, upon spying some likely play partner, to run toward that creature at top speed, skeeking the whole time. Needless to say, long before she got there, her play buddy had departed. Much to her annoyance. She simply couldn’t figure out why they wouldn’t stay around and play with her.

The boys, though, were good hunters. Since they did a good job of keeping the mice and vole population down, we praised their efforts (even though a dead “present” on the doorstep wasn’t our favorite thing to find). Once the five of us were all outside, and Chief came up with a vole, dropping it at our feet. We praised him lavishly. Skeeky watched carefully. Then disappeared. Only to return with a very large grasshopper in her mouth, which she dropped at my feet. Of course, I told her how wonderfully clever and brave she was. Though I had to try very hard to keep from laughing…

But once she really did get herself quite a catch. I was working in the trailer while the cats were outside (I listened carefully, and checked on them frequently). But, gradually, I realized that I’d been listening to a very strange sound. If it had been a normal cat meow, yowl or skeek, I would have been instantly alerted. But this was something that, for want of better words, sounded like a mumbled skeek. I opened the door to see what was going on. Skeeky was there, with a six-foot green snake in her mouth! The snake was still very much alive. Skeeky ran in, and promptly dropped her present in the bathroom. I began hollering for Kermit to come and get the snake! He came running, evicted the snake – who promptly slithered off – and then I got to listen to Skeeky telling me how wonderful she was to get such a prize, and ask me what I’d done with it? And wasn’t I terribly proud of her?

She loved to intimidate

Although her hunting skills were minimal, she was able to intimidate strangers and other animals – at least until they figured out what was going on. I realized how much she enjoyed this one time when we gave a party for some of my husband’s students. The party was in the basement, so I was surprised, when I came up to the kitchen to get some more stuff, that one student was up there rather than in the basement. I asked if I could get anything for him. While doing so, I noticed Skeeky was also there, so, without really looking at her (I was worried about him), I just picked her up and threw her across my shoulder (her favorite position).

“Aren’t you afraid of her?” the student asked.

At this point I realized that Skeeky was all fluffed up, ears laid back, and growling, even though now she was on my shoulder. And then I realized that she had been chasing him all through the house, all around the basement, up the stairs, and then all around the main floor, growling and hissing at him during the whole chase. She’d been having an absolutely wonderful time – until I’d come along to spoil her fun.

She did the same to a cleaning lady we’d hired, on that lady’s first day on the job. That evening when we came home from work, expecting to find a cleaned house, we instead found the house the way we’d left it – with the exception of the addition of a purse. The mystery was solved a few minutes later when the cleaning lady came to the door to get her purse. When she’d come to clean, Skeeky had begun stalking her, and the cleaning lady had fled the house so quickly that she’d left her purse behind! Needless to say, we had to hire another cleaning lady.

For a while, Skeeky also succeeded in chasing Tom throughout the house, with that same routine. However, he finally wised up. I watched it happen. She had chased him into one of the bathrooms, and cornered him. She kept closing in on him, moving sideways, all fluffed up and growling. He finally just reached out with one of his long legs, putting a paw directly in the middle of her forehead, holding her off. She continued hissing for a time, while being held off – and then stalked off in total disgust. And that was the end of that particular fun with Tom!

While she loved to intimidate, she, herself, could not be intimidated. A couple of weeks after I got her, I ended up yelling at her. She’d gotten “attached” to a display of dried flowers I had in a very large vase on the landing of the staircase. She would shinny up the vase, and then, holding on with one paw, use the other paw to bat the flowers, trying her best to turn my “masterpiece” into an art nouveau display of dried stems.

One time I was showering and I heard the unmistakable sounds of disintegrating dried flowers. I ran out of the bathroom and yelled at her. Nothing. I yelled while clapping. Nothing. I yelled while clapping and jumping up and down. Although I was getting dry, Skeeky was still ignoring me. Finally, she got bored with the flowers, noticed I was yelling, dropped down and ran up to me. She dropped in front of me, turned belly up, and asked me to play with her. Which I did, of course.

She kept herself spotless

She was always cleaning herself. No spot was allowed to stay on her tiny body for longer than a split second. This presented some problems when we were traveling in our motor home. When it was warm and I was wearing shorts, she’d insist on sitting in my lap but she’d frequently tell me how annoying this all was. I’d get her all wet and sweaty, and then she’d have to turn herself over and clean herself. And then I’d get her other side all wet and sweaty, and she would have to flip herself over again. After several “flips,” she would scold me. Poor baby…

However, one cleaning routine of hers was somewhat insulting — although I could never convince her of that. Often at night, she would burrow under the covers, next to me. There she would promptly clean herself, thoroughly, from stem to stern. Once she was completely clean, then she’d go over and cuddle next to Kermit for the night. So Kermit got the clean cat, I got the dirty one!

Anyway, being such a clean creature, she of course eschewed dirt, in any form. In the summers, we stayed in a travel trailer on some property in Montana. Since that trailer would get well above 100°, we would all go outside during the heat of the day. We often stayed in a screen tent. Once Skeeky was yelling at me, but, since she often yelled at me, and nothing really seemed to be wrong, I ignored her. However, she really had to go to the bathroom and there was no litter box. And Mommy was ignoring her. Finally, in desperation, she pawed at the dirt. You could see the surprise on her little face: a hole had appeared! She dug some more. Inspected the hole carefully. Then turned around and used the hole. She again inspected it: it had “worked!” She covered it up very carefully, then strutted around the tent, very proud of herself.

She walked “funny”

She had a couple of traits that made her fun to watch. One was the way her hind legs looked when walking away from you. As she walked, each hind leg would slant in, across her center line, making her hind end wiggle as she walked. One of my sisters said she looked like an eggbeater!

Then there was the way she walked on a cold floor. She hated walking on cold floors, and did everything she could to avoid them, including jumping from piece of furniture to another in order to avoid the floor. She evidently figured that, if she had to walk on a cold floor, that three feet were better than forcing all four paws to suffer the cold. So she limped. Very convincingly. Always with one front paw up.

Once we were visiting my parents, and staying upstairs in their house — which had cold wood floors. A sister came to visit us, and went upstairs to see the cats. She suddenly shouted out that something was wrong with Skeeky! I came running upstairs. “See,” my sister said, “she’s limping. She must have hurt her paw.”

I laughed and responded that she was just avoiding the cold floor, that nothing was wrong with her. My sister insisted that she was hurt. Finally, I convinced her that Skeeky was fine by picking her up, giving her a hug, and setting her down again. Again, she walked off, limping. But with the other front paw, this time.

She was very loving – and very demanding

Right after we got her, and we’d become attached to each other, we discovered a game that she played with me for years: Peek-a-boo. I would talk to her, and then I’d either hide my eyes or hide my whole head. She would always come running, skeeking the whole way. I’d pick her up and hug her. Then I’d go away and do it again. She loved it.

One of her favorite games was peek-a-boo. I would hide my eyes from her, behind something, then pop up and say, “peek-a-boo.” I’d only have to do this once or twice and she’d come running up to me, skeeking.

I often referred to her as “my precious.” Since I’ve read Lord of the Rings several times, I was thinking of how that poor, beaten-up hobbit kept referring to the ring as “his precious.” That’s the way I felt about Skeeky.

One of the things that she most frequently demanded was frequent toilet pounding. The way this went was that she’d run into the bathroom and start yelling at the toilet. I was supposed to put a towel on the lid (otherwise her little feet would get cold). Then she’d jump up, and I would begin patting her back, just in front of her tail. She loved it, the harder the better. Several times a day she’d demand her Toilet Pounding.

She was always such a loving cat. In fact, being hugged by one of her humans was even better than giving them orders. No matter what, I knew that she would never deliberately hurt me. She would get absolutely furious with me, glaring and switching her little tail, but I could pick her up and no teeth or claws would come out. Unless, of course, I “needed” some disciplining. Sometimes I would be ignoring her long past the time she considered to be reasonable. She would then “remind” me of my failure by surgically inserting a single claw into the nearest available part of my anatomy. She’d never actually draw blood – but she certainly did get my attention!

Clearly, we were not allowed to ignore her. Of course she did the usual cat thing of lying on top of whatever you were working on. But she did even more. Once I was trying to read a book. I’d move one of her limbs after another, to read the text beneath each. Then I’d pick her up to turn the pages. However, after a few pages, she’d had enough of that “cavalier” treatment. She jumped up on the book, and then grabbed a corner of one page in her mouth and tore a corner off! Good thing that the book was one of mine rather than the library’s…

Once I was working on a professional book. This required extensive reading. On this particular occasion, I was reading a book when she began demanding attention. I ignored her. She tried to get on top of the book. I kept moving her. Finally, I spread my arms out over both pages. So she grabbed the corner of one page in her teeth and ripped it off! At that point I gave up and hugged her.

She slept with us. Under the covers, of course (from her point of view, why should pillows and covers be limited to humans?). For many years, she would crawl under the covers to sleep with us, nestled next to either my body or my husband’s body. Except that when she slept next to me, she’d often get bored in the middle of the night. And “attack” my nightgown. She’d grab fabric in teeth and claws and pull and tear as hard as she could. However, she never once scratched me! I never did figure out how she managed it.

When cuddled, and when she’d start to purr, she’d emit the most unusual scent. It was faintly musky, and very pleasant. It wasn’t a “warm cat” odor, since she had to be happy before the odor appeared. We ended up calling it her “happy cat” smell.

Because she was so affectionate, I became very protective. Probably a tad (just a tad!) over-protective. Once, at a party we were giving, one of our guests picked up our new kitten (she was probably six months old at the time). Skeeky began squawking. Loudly. Without hesitation (and without thinking – which I soon regretted), I snatched my baby away from my guest and cradled Skeeky in my arms. When Skeeky started to purr, I then looked back at my guest. Who had the strangest expression on her face: “What a crazy lady!”

Through the months and years, Skeeky and I forged a strong relationship. I trusted her to never hurt me, and she trusted me to take care of her, and to rescue her whenever needed. As one example, once I heard her cries and ran to the family room to see what was the matter. She liked to sleep on top of the TV, but sometimes she slept so soundly that the twitches from dreaming propelled her off, onto the floor. On this particular occasion, she had fallen toward the back. In trying to catch herself, she had gotten three claws, on three different paws, caught in three different places on the cooling grid on the back of the TV. However, as soon as I grabbed her with one hand, she stopped yelling and stopped struggling. She patiently let me work each of her claws free, in turn. Total trust.

We traveled by motor home, just so our cats could travel with us. All of our cats loved the motor home. Skeeky was especially delighted because there was no way I could get away from her! She’d turn into the “Velcro kitty.” She would attach her tiny body to any part of my anatomy that was available. This included my rear end (when on hand and knees to clean something up) and my head. The motor home bed was especially delightful, as far as she was concerned. At bedtime, when I would head for the bedroom in back, she would run ahead of me. Then, when I would pull the blankets down, she would jump into bed, ahead of me. She did this every single night. Every night at bedtime, for 17½ years, I’d have to give her a bedtime hug. She was my love.