Pandora realizes she is being followed and becomes instantly wary. She looks over her shoulder and catches sight of the culprit, but just as quickly it disappears. A glance over her other shoulder and there it is. She whirls, leaps. Got it! There is a cry of shock as her sharp teeth bite down hard - on her own tail.

Pandora is in her furious hunter mode, and nothing is safe. The cloth normally draped over the ottoman is on the floor; various toys are scattered in positions of defeat where they were vanquished; my calves bear evidence of her sharp little claws.

The other cats watch in a kind of cautious awe. Pandora, at three months, is tiny enough to crawl under the furniture or squeeze in ridiculously small places and spring out, miniature paws flashing, to attack. She is indiscriminate in the objects of her kitten frenzy - toy, toe, sunbeam are all equally enticing.

Suddenly, her mock fury spent, she scrambles to my lap and in seconds is curled in purring ecstasy, her little face raised to mine, her golden eyes struggling to stay open. Soon she succumbs to exhausted sleep, stirring only to nestle closer.

Pandora is the newest member of our family. She forced her way into my life at Western Farms, the local animal feed and supply store, where I had gone to stock up on cat food. They keep huge cage to feature shelter cats in need of homes, and I always stop to look at them. She lay alone in the cage, and as I walked over, she opened her tiny arms as if to grab me, pleading with her eyes.

Black, with subtle markings of stripes and dots in paler colors, enormous eyes in a sweet triangle of a face, she stood at the front of the cage and opened her mouth in a virtually noiseless cry. I was lost.

"I want her," I whispered, hoping no one would hear me. "I really, really want her."

I called the friend I was shopping with over to see the kitten, and Bobbie agreed she was a little beauty.

"What are you thinking, Lucille?" she asked. "What about the others? You already have three at home."

A passing clerk heard the exchange and walked over. He commented on how sweet she was and said that there had been four from the same family. All the others had been adopted. Now she was all alone.

I asked him to open the cage, so I could see how she responded to being handled. I knew I would never be completely happy with a cat that didn't like to be snuggled. He unlocked the door, reached in, and put her in my arms. She settled on my chest and reached up to put her two paws around my neck. It was all over.

Bobbie waited patiently while I filled out the forms to adopt the kitten. The young woman in charge of adoptions put together a carrying case, and we left the store. Bobbie's eyebrows were almost into her hairline.

At home, I immediately set the kitten up in the usual way I use to introduce new cats into the household. A box, food, water, toys, and a mat went into the bathroom, and a screen went across the door so she could see and be seen by the other cats, but they would be separated until she got used to the house. I went out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and while the water was boiling, I felt something sharp on my leg. I looked down, and there was the new kitten climbing my jeans.

What Happened? Did the screen fall down? I thought it was well anchored, but I went to check. The screen was fine. I put the kitten over it, and started to turn away. Quick as a flash, she was beside me again. I put her back on the bathroom floor and watched. It took her all of a second to scramble over the screen and start to climb my leg again.

None of the other cats had ever done that before. Okay, a new set-up was obviously in order. On end, the screen was not quite wide enough to cover the opening enough to secure it into place, so I set up an arrangement with an old shoji screen covering half the space and the screen the other half. I put the kitten back into the bathroom and left. She almost beat me to the kitchen. It was the same when I nailed chicken wire across the door. She found a tiny opening, just big enough to squeeze through, at the very top and soon joined me in the living room. It was then I realized the kitten was misnamed. She had come home as Prudence, the shelter cat. I immediately changed it to Pandora, queen of mischief.

So, now our family is a new cat richer and we have all, the cats and I, had to adjust to having a two and a half pound ball of energy with a very determined personality living with us. I think it will be fun.

Lucille Dumbrava is a retired teacher/counselor whose love of writing and love of cats started when she was a child. Her stories about the cats in her life have been collected in a book entitled Cathouse, for which she is currently seeking a publisher. She is owned by three unique cats. She and they can be reached at eMail