Although my "family" has usually included a dog, I'm really a cat person at heart. And my favorite cats are Siamese, with their attitude and inbred knowledge that they rule the world and we must obey.

My cat these days came from the animal shelter. I adopted her shortly after my darling Hubby died, as much to keep my Sheltie company while I was gone as to give me a companion. She was a tiny ball of gray fluff, docile for a kitten, that I named Tabby because of the trademark M on her forehead that is indicative of a tabby cat.

What I didn't know was that Tabby's mixed heritage includes Siamese. She is still primarily gray, with a patch of calico here and there, but everything else about her screams royal lineage. She's a sleek, lean creature with attitude in spades.

One of her favorite places to sleep is on top of my scanner/printer. Of course, to get there, she walks across my keyboard as I write and gives a scathing glare if I dare suggest she walk around the next time. She has also discovered which button to push to make a sheet of paper go through the printer. That's her favorite trick when I get lost in my writing and forget she's there.

Her absolute desire, however, is to roam outside. Since we live on a busy street, she's confined to the house. And, honestly, she really doesn't want to be an outside cat. She simply wants me to understand that if she chooses to go out, it is my duty to open the door -- and to be ready to open it again when she wants in.

We disagree on this. After two years of chasing her, I decided to leave her out until I was good and ready to let her in. That almost worked. I was forced to obey her need to come in after she knocked the screen from her favorite window and yowled loud enough to wake the dead.

I will say this about my Tabby -- she keeps life interesting. And if you someday read a book of mine with a haughty, demanding heroine, you'll know how the model for that particular character is!