Missy Kitty, who rules her world, is getting older too

Once again, a bundle of fur and googly eyes gets top billing.

It happened the other day when a lively group of Red Hat Ladies -- or, as they prefer, Women With Attitudes -- graciously asked me to be the luncheon speaker.

So what were their first words of greeting? "How's Missy Kitty?"

What am I? Chopped whatever? Wouldn't you think one of them might have asked about my well-being?

That's what happens when you let a cat take over. Pretty soon important decisions are being made by a small animal. Your financial adviser calls, and Missy Kitty gets to the phone first and makes crucial decisions involving catnip futures. Or the plumber comes to the door and asks if it's OK to do the work now, or should he come back after Missy Kitty finishes her nap. I'm not kidding.

I've mentioned before that we have to buy two kinds of milk when we go to the grocery store. My wife and I use fat-free milk for our cereal and so forth. Missy Kitty? She demands, expects and darn well gets 2 percent milk, thank you.

You may not believe what I'm about to tell you. That's fine. Stranger things have been accepted as fact.

My wife made out the weekly grocery list and put fat-free milk among the dairy products we needed. It looked like there would be enough 2 percent milk for Missy Kitty to last a few more days. But when I looked at the list the morning of our grocery expedition, the words "fat-free" had been -- I am not making this up -- scratched out. Instead, there was a crude "2" that looked more like a "Z" in front of the word "milk." The cat wandered into the kitchen where I was. I looked down at her, trying to make sense of what I was dealing with. She gave me a passing glance, licked her right paw and slowly walked into the family room and jumped into her wicker chair.

Missy Kitty took another look at me, and there was no mistaking her thoughts. Message received. Do not make the mistake -- as some humans are prone to do -- of purchasing fat-free milk. It will not do.

As you can see, Missy Kitty has us well-trained. I know. It's supposed to be the other way around. But you haven't met Missy Kitty, have you?

As best we can determine, Missy Kitty celebrated her fourth birthday earlier this month. It was three years ago during the Fourth of July week that we adopted Missy Kitty from Safe Harbor, the no-kill animal shelter near Fruitland. It was estimated then that Missy Kitty was a year old, even though she wasn't any larger than a healthy kitten. As a matter of fact, Missy Kitty was put with the kitten population at Safe Harbor instead of having to protect herself from the much larger adult cats.

Now that we know Missy Kitty, I don't think there was much to worry about. We've seen her chase off much bigger cats from our yard. And a few fair-sized dogs as well.

Our patio features a pile of rocks collected from all over the world. There is a fountain and four pools of water in the rock pile. Over the years, aquatic animals have shown up. We had a couple of goldfish that lived in one of the pools for six or seven years. Missy Kitty thought they were put there for her amusement. The goldfish are gone.

Still with us are the salamanders. As far as I know there are no creeks or ponds anywhere near us, but somehow salamanders found our pile of rocks and the fountain and have taken up residence. Missy Kitty thinks it's wonderful to have pets of her own. Occasionally she puts one of the salamanders at the bottom of the family-room steps onto the patio. She acts perplexed when she hears my wife's reaction.

The good news is we have no mice in our house. Missy Kitty regularly patrols the ivy beds with their rodent trails. Sometimes she brings her little friends to the patio to play with them. The mice do not always look like they're having a good time.

So, nice Women With Attitudes, that's the latest on Missy Kitty, since you asked.

Me? I'm fine too. In case you were wondering.

And happy birthday, Missy Kitty. You don't look to be a day over three.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.