I was living alone when I decided I wanted to get a kitten. I searched the classified ads and saw one for "free kittens". The ad said there were gray ones and black ones. I was hoping for a gray one, but when I got to the owner's house, there were only black ones left. They were all cuddled up on a chair, taking a nap. I picked one up and she started "howling" like a true blue Siamese cat. It wasn't a meow, it was a screech. She was skinny, homely and had a sassy attitude. I brought her home. I named her Carly, because after trying out a dozen or so other names, that one fit. Carly was the strangest cat I have ever known. She is the only cat that I have known that would come when you whistled, like a dog. If I couldn't find her in the house, I would whistle and she would come bouncing out of her hiding place and rub against my legs. She also loved the sound of crumpling newspaper. If she ever got outside, I would crumple newspaper to lure her back inside. It worked every time. Carly was not a lover unless it was her idea. If I picked her up and put her on my lap, she would stiffen and bound to the floor like lightning. However, if I was all snuggly warm on the couch, and Carly decided she wanted to join me, she would become the cuddliest cat in the world, curling up on my tummy, purring wildly. Carly also had a strange habit of carrying objects around the house. We would find socks, underwear, earmuffs, and gloves lying in various areas of the house. One time Carly found a little plastic army figure and plunked it into the toilet. Proud of her accomplishment, she stood on the seat and screeched. After getting Carly, I had filled my home with other companions: a golden retriever, two other cats and a Lhasa-Apso mix. Upon each of their arrivals, Carly made darn sure they knew who was boss. She greeted each one with hair-raising hisses and her signature screech. Through the years, she would perch herself on the coffee table and if another animal walked by, she would hiss at him or her, sending the poor animal cowering over to be protected by me. Carly was Queen. One day I noticed that Carly did not look well. She was sitting hunched over, drooling, looking very uncomfortable. She let me pick her up, which was my next clue that something was wrong. I noticed an awful smell to her breath. I brought her to the vet who took blood and diagnosed kidney failure. "How long can she live?" I asked the vet. She answered, "I've known cats at this stage to live as long as three months". I was shocked. "Three months?" I was going to lose her, and soon. Carly had never allowed me to get very close to her, like the other animals. Affection and cuddle time were always on her terms. She was extremely independent and stubborn, always giving the impression that she could take on the world if she had to. I looked at her on the vet table, her body now weak and her eyes hazy. Somehow, I had come to love her, in spite of her coat of armor. I asked the vet what I should do. I didn't want Carly to suffer, but it didn't seem like it was time for her to go yet. The vet said she would prescribe bags of fluids that I could administer sub-cutaneously with a needle at home, and that would keep Carly comfortable. Since I had worked at a vet clinic previously, I was comfortable with the procedure. I took Carly home and started the treatments. After a few days, she began to perk up and become her "sassy" self, bossing everyone around again. To my surprise, that lit up my heart. It was a joy to have Carly being herself, sassy as she was. The house was back to normal. For awhile, anyway. About three months later, the fluids stopped working. Carly was spending less and less time "patrolling" the house, and she slept more. The glint was gone from her eyes and she was becoming uncomfortable. On a Saturday evening Carly was lying on the bed. I picked her up and realized that her rear legs were paralyzed. I was shocked. I called the vet clinic and they were closed. I left a message, but did not hear back. I decided that the next day I would have to have Carly "put down". It broke my heart. I lay her next to me in bed that night, and she did not protest. I stroked her little black head and talked to her. She would lie there, seeming to be asleep, then would snap her head up and start licking her fur. I fell asleep and awoke the next morning to find Carly lying in the exact same place. She screeched when I moved, protesting the interruption. I had to work early that morning for a few hours, and decided that when I got back, I would take her to the vet when they were open. After finishing most of my morning routine, I went into the bathroom to dry my hair. Carly began howling from the bedroom. I went in to her and stroked her hair. That calmed her down and she purred. Each time that I left to continue getting ready to leave, she howled. I would return to her and pet her and talk to her, which quieted and calmed her. She was only content when I was with her. This was so new to me. I got the feeling she actually needed me. As I pet her, she began to breathe a little more quickly and a look of fear entered her eyes. I knew what was happening. I told her "It's okay, you'll be alright". Tears streamed down my face as Carly took her last breath and died. I continued to stroke her hair and look at her. She was a beautiful, skinny black cat that had worked her way into my heart the hard way. But at the end she let me know that she needed me. And, as I discovered during her illness, I needed her, too.