I have a cat named Agatha. Hearing that name, you're probably picturing an evil old lady who chases kids off of her lawn with a broom and possibly practices witchcraft or voodoo of some sort. That would be my cat if she were human.

We "inherited" her from my grandmother. I put that in quotations because my grandmother isn't dead. She'll probably out live us all. But she moved from a farm house to a little condo about 5 years ago and the condo she moved into doesn't allow pets. We aren't exactly cat people, but felt bad that a cat would be put down or left homeless when she didn't do anything to deserve it.

The thing about Agatha is that she didn't exactly do anything to deserve our love either. She was very much a barn cat: hunting animals (including a rabbit that was almost her size), living in woodsheds, and coming and going as she felt like.

I don't have a lot of experience with cats, but from what I've learned I have concluded that ginger cats (my nephew calls them marmalade cats) are all evil. Agatha is no exception.

She has by far to most evil sounding meows I have ever heard. Even when she is happy she still sounds like a demon is trapped in her throat. Not normally that bad, but she also has taken a fondness to what I call "singing." What she actually does is makes these haunting moans that sound like her trapped demons are trying to escape.

She is also a little aggressive. And by a little, I mean she could probably take George St. Pierre in a fight. Back when she lived in the wood shed, she would hide atop the pile and take a swat at unsuspecting people walking by her. My poor old dog used to take the brunt of her abuse. Now Prince was skittish to begin with, but he was downright terrified of her. When she first moved in with us, he would not go out into the yard unaccompanied if she was outside of our shed which she now lives in. Before anyone freaks out about her living in a shed, we have tried to bring her inside – she doesn't like it. It is an insulated shed with electricity and heat – my dad spends the majority of his time in there with her. I digress.

We have tried to figure out how old she is, but no one can do it. All I know is that she had been at my grandmother's for as long as I can remember; my sister swears that she was there before I was born and I am now 24. On top of that, she didn't come to my grandmother's as a kitten. Our best guesses put her at around 26 years old. And she still hunts, sings, and can be a complete bitch.

The strange thing about this is that she is still lovable. My parents and I all love her to pieces. Despite her constantly meowing her demon yowl and keeping everyone awake at the cottage because she is nocturnal and enjoys putting on a concert at three am.

The catholic part of me fears being so close to the spawn of Satan though.