This is our cat Frankenkitty. I named her that partly because I liked the name Frankie. We found this cute little kitten with stripes and spots, as if she’d been put together with spare parts from other cats, got canine approval from Nabu, and she was ours and dubbed Frankie. Frankenkitty when she’s naughty.

Little did we know in adopting her that she would at times behave like the monster in the novel that inspired her name. In keeping with that monster, she can be gentle and loving. . . some of the time.Then, seemingly out of nowhere, her ironically named canine teeth are embedded in my arm. Tail twitching, eyes narrowed, daring me to make my move. Is she playing or pissed? Does she want to be flipped and given belly scratches, or did one of the dogs look at her wrong? Your guess is as good as mine. 

We have learned the hard way that Frankie is of the opinion that when we adopted her we should have put any and all other animals in the house up for adoption. Regardless of their age, species or personality, life would be best if she lived alone with her staff.

When Frankie entered our lives we had an elderly, lonesome cat, Spike. Her lifelong companion, Chester, had died a few months before and Spike was visibly distressed. We thought a little kitten could be a friend for Spike in her sunset years. Boy, were we wrong. Frankie eventually learned to tolerate Spike’s presence, but that was the extent of their “companionship.”

Several years ago Frankie finally seemed to learn to appreciate the constancy of her staff. Before this particular summer, we often would not see much of Frankie until it was time for the cats’ daily can of food, around 5pm. Then one day, we realized we hadn’t seen her come running and meowing for food. She seemed to like spending her days in the sun on the pile of bricks behind the house and at times would wander the neighborhood, so we weren’t too worried. In the days following, there was still no sign of her. We took the cat treat jar out to shake it and call her into the house to no avail. Gradually we resigned ourselves to not having a Frankenkitty any more. If she was found we knew she was chipped so we’d eventually get a call to pick her up. 

About a month after noting her absence, Peanut heard the dog door’s “fwap fwap” in the middle of the day. The dogs at the time were right in front of him, so it had to be someone else. Sure enough, it was Frankie! She’d found her way home. Skinny, thirsty and tired, she meowed her exasperation at the delay in dinner service. Ever since, I get a thankful little head bump at dinnertime to say “Thanks lady.”

On the rare, un-canine-supervised visit to the bathroom, she’ll occasionally choose to grace me with her presence. Of course, because her favorable attention is fleeting, I must remain seated in her highness’ vicinity. After a quick hop-bump-rub of my leg she’s on the edge of the tub, meowing to remind me of my place in the world as her domestic, subject to her beck and call. Her dainty right paw is pressed to my chest, then the left, and her face is inches from mine, mewing insistently. I must then pick her up under her arms, support her butt and stroke her back gently until she’s had enough, growls and runs away.

There’s a saying that “Dogs have masters, cats have staff.” When it comes to our little Franke, a truer statement could not be said. I certainly can’t say she’s the best cat I’ve ever known, and she may be the last to own me, but I love the little monster with all my heart. She’s been in charge for 10 years now and I hope to live under her supervision for the decade to come.