When Willow and I met, she had two cats, Ziggy and The Kitten. Even after The Kitten was fully grown, she remained The Kitten. Mostly white with a smoky grey tail and ears, The Kitten was subdued, elegant, and excellent companionship for the lap when you were ill. She loved nothing more than to curl up in a perfect circle inside the large, robin-egg blue box that once held our crystal Tiffany cake plate, a wedding gift from Willow's best friend.
When Willow and I moved in together, I brought Molly along, at that point, a mere yearling. Molly was both territorial and protective of her Daddy. She could do nothing about Ziggy (who has spent most of his life around the 23-lb. mark), but the Kitten she terrorized, often waiting on the litter box hood to attack The Kitten as she emerged from her necessaries. As you might imagine, this caused the Kitten to avoid the litter box, favoring instead, in no particular order, a backpack full of student papers, several pairs of shoes, a laptop bag complete with laptop, and many many plastic shopping bags.
So we had to find a new home for The Kitten. Willow's best friend (she of the Tiffany blue box, natch) took her in, and The Kitten soon made her and her husband into true devotees. When Willow and I would visit, the Kitten generally snubbed us.
Well, sadly, some five or six years after sending her on, the Kitten curled up in her last warm circle, and was put to sleep to help alleviate ailments too numerous and undignified to mention. Ziggy (that beast) and Molly (that brazen hussy, at least to The Kitten) live on with us. But even though Ihaven't seen the Kitten in years now, I miss her quite a bit.