Starr adopted us nearly 6 years ago. She was a small, beautiful, black cat with a white “star” on her throat. Starr was a stray, and before we brought her inside our home, we made her an “igloo” out of a styrofoam cooler to keep her warm in the cold weather. She readily used the cooler and we knew then how smart she was. Of our 5 cats, she was the only one who figured out how to open the unlatched screen door to sneak out. She also opened a window once, and climbed out over the top of the screen. She never went far–just a few feet into the lawn for a munch of green grass, but we figured out pretty quickly that we had to keep an eye on her. She had a strange habit of sneaking into the garage to eat spider webs (!) and she also liked to sneak into our walk-in-closets. If she didn’t manage to get in, I would close the door behind me, and within 10-15 seconds, a little black foot would appear under the door. She was smart, loving, affectionate, feisty, fresh, mischievous, curious, funny and sweet. Sometimes I would wake up with the sensation of something lying on my arm/shoulder—and it would be Starr. Sometimes she would also want to snuggle under the covers on chilly mornings. She was my best buddy if I was up late at night working on something. She would rub my leg and want to be involved in whatever I was doing. Sometimes she got in my way—but I didn’t mind. It’s those late-night hours that are the hardest—that’s when I miss her the most. Even though she had four feline housemates, the house has a palpable stillness and quietness without her. She wasn’t with us for long enough, and we will miss her forever.