Obviously, I do not know cats.

I have had one cat or another most of my life. I remember Annabelle, who seemed to happily tolerate my dressing her in doll clothes and pushing her around the neighborhood in my doll buggy. Was it she or another who carried each of her newborn kittens up the basement stairs when we were inundated the year of the terrible flood? Dogs, too, of course, but cats. Always cats.

And, if cats, obviously, kittens.

So why did acquiring Gloria seem like such a totally unfamiliar experience?

There was no doubt I wanted a replacement after Beauty died, thinking it only more practical to wait out the winter months. With so many lovely kittens suddenly available, I had not foreseen the difficulty my wanting an indoor-outdoor cat would create. I felt very fortunate then when an ad brought me to Gloria.

All black with blue eyes, she and the retrievers rapidly adjusted to each other. I had initially felt it necessary to protect her from the two beasties a good hundred times her size – especially since they both seemed to have developed amnesia at what a cat was. Foolish me! Give them free rein and she rapidly projected her dominance. And so it has remained.

And while I continue to insist it is I who runs things, Gloria has her opinions on that issue as well.

It wasn’t long at all before she discovered the dog door and, ever since, comes and goes at will. I was used to having a pretty good sense of whether Minor or Quillow was in or out but, having the dogs at my feet and then hearing someone else go out (or was it coming in?) unnerved me the first couple of times. Shows she must be a faster learner than I.

Her “declawization” has proved no handicap whatsoever while a blessing to me and the furniture. Baby claws are as sharp as knives and I do bleed easily . . . and, with her as a kitten, far too often. Now she climbs trees at will and has proven an unbelievable huntress. While still definitely in her kitten stage, she has (to date) captured three mice, two snakes, a chipmunk and one bird. I pray the latter was already mortally injured for it was the only hermit thrush I have ever recorded on this property.

The swinging door is hardly the only canine trick she’s acquired. Being “vacuumed” since he was the weest pup because of a skin condition, Minor welcomes the vacuum cleaner as a friend. Gloria saw and followed his example – stretching out while I have to sweep around her. Being deaf (enough), Quillow remains nonplussed.

It’s the biting that has gotten to me. My skin is thin and I have a genuine desire to keep as much of my blood inside me as I can. As I write, I’ve heard from a granddaughter who has adopted an older cat who also bites. I am presuming Gloria will outgrow this, right? Right?

While having hosted cats almost all my life, I somehow remained blindly naive to what a cat – especially a kitten – was really like. I swear mine just came, moved in and settled, and were there. Happily so – for cat and for me.

Gloria has no intention of “settling.” Her presence is very much felt. She is everywhere.

Should I sit (when eating, her company is definitely verboten), she runs to stretch out at my feet – pet me, pet me. Of course I do. I love the thick black silk on her body. Her purring intrigues and naturally rewards as she stretches out, then rolls over for further attention.

Just one problem – my stroking too often turns rough. She can strike as quickly (if not more so) as a snake – frequently digging in with both top and bottom incisors – two wounds for the price of one.

My oldest daughter (she’d prefer I suspect to be thought most senior) found an illuminating article on kittenhood which explained all: “A kitten’s life is all about play, and play is all about prey. Every race down the hallway, every pounce from behind a door, every swat and nip is a display of a kitten’s hunting skills, instincts that are just as strong in today’s housecat as they were in her ancestors thousands of years ago. To a kitten, everything, and we mean everything, in the house is potential prey, including you.” Turns out I had plenty to learn and Gloria was behaving quite normally. To her credit, however (and she is one very smart cat), she is working at least as hard to control that animal urge.

Almost nine months old, she sits beside me – if not actually on the keyboard – as I type and is absolutely entranced by the copier, attempting to reach in as the paper is expelled in her direction.

My family expands. There’s always room for one more.

Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. Her Reason for Being was published in 2008 with Love in Three Acts appearing in 2014. Copies are available at the Cassadaga ShurFine and Papaya Arts on the Boardwalk in Dunkirk. Information on all the Musings, the books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.