My Mom adopted Kiddo when she was but a tiny ball of gray-and-white fuzz. The as-yet-unnamed kitten went from the cage in the animal-rescue volunteer's garage to the cat carrier. I had the honor of holding the carrier while Mom drove us all home. Kiddo, upset at being secured in a carrier for a safe trip, extended her entire arm out of the cage and clawed my hand. And wrist. And forearm.

Hence, "Kiddo," as in the sword-bearing female from "Kill Bill." (She would have been "Wolverine" had she been a male.)

She detests being petted unless Mom is playing with one of the other cats. Then Kiddo will allow Mom to scratch between her ears, but only for a brief moment. Then she resumes slapping the other cats around the kitchen floor like hockey pucks.

Kiddo also detests toys. She merely stares at the wand toy with all the nice feathers. She ignores the laser pointer. Not even the pull tabs from milk cartons - a favored toy for many cats - interest Kiddo.

But when you break out the kitty treats, she'll give you her complete attention.