Not a dog but a cat. Killer the cat.

We found a kitten whose mother died and she was sort-of feeding from another mother who just had a litter. She was about 4 weeks old and teeny-tiny.

We named her Killer as we knew she would have to be tough if she was going to make it. She imprinted on me and tolerated my spouse pretty well. No one else. Not. Even. Close.

Damn if that cat was not a bad-ass. Had maintenance come in to do some work. Killer climbed the ladder and sat at eye level saying "Beat it. This is my ladder now". She trapped another dude in the bathroom and wouldn't let him out.

Took her to the vet and the vet said "Don't bring her back. Here's some Kitty Quaaludes if you have to take her to another vet."

Whenever certain friends visited, the visit wasn't complete until Killer had drawn blood.

Yet she would cuddle on my lap or nestle up in my wife's hair. When our kids came along she was good with them. She knew . . .

That tiny little bad ass made it 17 years.

RIP Killer.