There is a back-story, ofcourse.
A few months after my husband died in 2012 our son found a two week old kitten outside on a cold rainy night and she was screaming her head off. He brought her to me. In a moment of weakness I agreed to adopt her.
I fed her with a medical syringe until she could lap from a saucer.
She needed a name and I tagged her Angel because it felt as if this needy little life was an angel in my life at a very dark moment.
That was almost two years ago.
She has thrived. She is bright, ambitious, exceptionally smart and sometimes actually affectionate - most of the time she is into her own games. Except when I am working on my computer - then she is pacing back and forth across the keyboard.
She owns my house. She knows and has touched and smelled every inch of it as well as every thing in it.
When I settle into bed at night she roams and patrols downstairs. I have grown relaxed with that so that the noises of her leaping and running no longer
startle me. When I hear something I listen and then roll over - "oh, Angel." and go back to sleep.
Before the night is over she settles on my bed next to my feet and I am grateful for her warmth now that I sleep alone.