A story about my pet? Well, Baby was just that--a baby, spoiled through and through. An opinionated little creature with a demanding, raspy call that sounded more like a firm "drat" than an actual sing song meow. Her tiny yet scratchy voice could win anyone over for treats, cheese or love at any given moment.

I often think of that vocal fry-laden cry matched with eager green eyes following me every time I ventured into the kitchen. Or the bedroom. Or the bathroom...she had a need to be near and heard, knowing I would forget my duties and scoop her up onto my shoulder for her purrs to kick up the second my cheek touched hers.

Yes, I have stories of her escapades as a kitten, scaling tall bookcases and scaring the life out of little 9-year-old me, worried she would fall; or perhaps the time when she was well into her senior years with me in my 20's and she met my dad's Australian shepherd for the first time, only to chase the poor dog until it cowered in the kitchen and refused to come out.

But truly, my favorite story is simply of her, my best friend, welcoming me home in her croaky little way, waiting to be hoisted up on my shoulder again. Though it has no literary beginning, middle or end, it is how we were. And someday I hope, will be again.