No idea how to title this

Today, we lost one of the best of us. Believe me, I've read some of the posts like this on other blogs, and I can't say I love reading them (other people's pain isn't entertaining), but right now, I know exactly where each one is coming from.

In 2000, I had just moved out of my parent's house. I was working late at the library and there was a little grey and white kitten in the parking lot. When I went outside, she ran right up to me. I picked her up, put her in my car, and she was mine. I named her Diana, after the adorable Sailor Moon kitten.

She was 6 months old and pretty dehydrated. When I took her to the vet for the first time, she took a chunk out of his finger. She was ornery, but loyal. Soon after, it was time for her to be spayed. On the 3 minute trip to the vet's office she tore a giant hole in her carrier, and my finger. She was so scared that she clung to me.

Soon after that, the cat contract was born. You see, Diana liked to bite. I don't like to be bitten. One night, she bit me and it really hurt. I showed her where she had bitten me and she started to lick it and looked very sorry. From then on, the cat contract was in effect. If she felt like biting me, she'd go for it, but then stop before she made contact.

She was the boss. In a house with four cats, she was the top of the food chain. She was tough, but sweet to me. When she came to sleep with me, she would stretch out so as much of her was touching me as possible. She didn't pester, just slept sweetly with me.

She lived with the evil formerly mentioned in this blog. Even then, she knew who her owner was, and was incredibly loyal to me. When 3 other cats slept with evil, she was with me.

She hated the ceiling fan. When we lived at the condo, she was always on the lookout for it. One day, I was putting away laundry when I accidentally hit her with a balled up sock. I pointed at the fan (blamed it) and she gave it a filthy look and ran away.

Diana was a talker. She would make conversation with me all of the time. I swear, she meowed with inflection. She would ask questions and her voice would go up at the end. If she answered it would go down at the end. If I sang "Old MacDonald" she would join in. When just sang, she came up and sniffed my mouth.

Diana loved men. Daddy, brothers, repairmen, it didn't matter. If they were male, she was all about it, lovey, and sweet. She adored Jason. From the moment he came into my life, she knew he'd hung the moon. He was great with her too. But somehow, he didn't fall under the cat contract. So she got to bite and he didn't really mind.

Diana also loved her brush. She would sit for hours with that brush. And when I was brushing my hair, she would jump on the counter and arch her back until I brushed her too. She loved to sit in the sink. It was just her size.

She was never much for toys. She had one that she liked, and just one. I bought her a laser pointer keychain. She would chase it like a mad thing, and if I stopped for just a second, she would come over and cry. She knew what it sounded like, and that it was just me doing it, but it was awesome to her.

She loved Taco Bell. A piece of cheese from my taco was always reserved for her.

When we moved in with Jason, I was nervous. I thought she would be mean to his cat Tabby, and not cope well. On the contrary, she blossomed. She was happier than she had ever been. There was no ceiling fan to worry about and she seemed to be happier with her new brother and sister than she was with the previous cats. Oh, she was still the boss, but she was the nice boss.

A wonderful, soft, sweet, mean, snuggly, superb cat.

She was diagnosed with lung cancer about a month ago. This morning, on the way to the vet, she collapsed in her carrier and passed away before we made it there. At least it was on her own terms.

I loved her unconditionally, and constantly. She was my partner in crime. I'm sure I'll add more to this post as I think of it. She was a great friend, and I miss her.