The cuteness of pure evil, or the evil of pure cuteness?
She was actually not evil at all, except that time when we were trying to convince both cats to wear collars, and she would sit near the bedroom door, in the middle of the night, and scratch - kicking away at the collar and its tinkly tag - until I woke up and threw a pillow at her. I am positive that she thought that was hilarious.
We knew she was the cat for us because a) she was the prettiest, sleekest little panther at the rescue; and b) when the rescue worker took her out to trim her toenails, she made a point of taking a swipe at the volunteer - without connecting. "I could have killed you; I am merciful."
This cat had a different word for every occasion, and regularly added cute behaviors to her repertoire. She made a habit of jumping up on my bathroom counter and supervising my morning routine - diligently closing the medicine cabinet, where I keep my makeup, every time I opened it.
I used to give her that anti-hairball goop, but once we ran out and I tried giving her butter instead. Not only did the butter work just fine, she looooooved it. She trained me to give her a little butter before each meal. It was her appetizer, I guess.
If I was rummaging around in craft stuff and left a ball of yarn unattended, she would run off with it - yowling. She would steal an unattended pair of socks, too. We were told that she was a teenage mother, and so this may have been a flashback to those days.
If I happened to be working with papers, she would sit on them. Just to make sure they didn't get away. She would also climb into any suitcase or overnight bag that was opened. Any time I opened my closet, she had to dash in there to make sure nothing had changed since last time.
When we went to bed, she would insist on getting under the covers, but only for ten minutes or so. Then she would crawl out and fling herself down next to me, and go to sleep with her back pressed against my side. Once in a while I would wake up to find she had flipped over and used her paws to push me across the bed, leaving Mr. P and me with half of it to share.
We found out about barbecue one time when we got ribs with some Thai takeout. A little black paw reached up over the edge of the table, and almost got a rib before we realized what was going on. She would also dunk her nose in any cup of water that wasn't zealously guarded. It was the same water that was in her dish, but somehow it was always more refreshing coming out of our cups.
She had her end of the couch, too. Anybody who sat there was apt to be sat on. We had to warn those of our friends who weren't cat-lovers, so they would sit somewhere else.
If she was hungry and we were sitting in the den, she would sit on the bar and glare at us until we got up to feed her. If we noticed her but still didn't get up for a while, she would turn around and give us her back. A cat who is glaring at you wants something; a cat who's pointedly ignoring you has a grievance.
She wasn't much of one for playing with toys. Her idea of entertainment was pestering the human. She wanted to be on my lap, or at least in the same room with me, most of the time.
Our other cat used to try to rustle up a wrestling match. He would choose a time when she was curled up napping, then puff out his ruff and go muscle in on her. This typically did not go well for him. He is much heavier than she was, but it was like a sumo wrestler going up against Bruce Lee. She gave him the beatdown almost every time, and called him horrible names while she was doing it.
They were never really friends, but he misses her too.