Mouse arrived at our back door with her father, Smoky, one cold winter's night, looking like a fat miniature version of her dad. Although she wouldn't let me near her, her mother, Mamacita (a regular fixture at our back door practically since the day we moved in), and her brother, Butterball, were more sociable. Butterball was killed by a car when they were about six months old, and it was terrible to see how much Mouse missed him. Mouse eventually became pregnant (she still wouldn't let me catch her, so she hadn't been spayed.) When she went into labor, she seemed to be having a difficult time, so I sat near her and gave her moral support for a couple of hours, until we decided that we had to take her to the emergency vet. Apparently the one unborn kitten was so big that Mouse couldn't push it out without help, and the kitten was stillborn. However, that traumatic day cemented Mouse's relationship with me, and she became totally devoted to me after that. Her nickname was "Mousie Dung". Mouse was a fixture in my lap every night for years, and loved to wash my hands and face (which could be extremely uncomfortable sometimes!) She became terminally ill when she was about 12 years old, and died about a month before my mother did.