Poppy is the epitome of feline fury. As a kitten, the terror of her nocturnal activities brought many sleepless nights. I often cried from frustration as I cowered under the sheets, wondering how a tiny ball of fur could instill such fear.

Now two years old, she has yet to "mellow out". Her attacks are less frequent, but only because she avoids human interaction like the plague. However, the true extent of her wrath is revealed when my grandfather comes to visit. The mere sound of his voice prompts her to hiss. Her prowess and power in boxing is a force to be reckoned with, and luckily only practiced on him - her mortal enemy.

Another aspect of her mean demeanor is her bipolar nature. In the house, there are only two places where one can experience her affection: the basement and the bedroom, where she's a veritable angel -- in any other location, you are lucky if you can sneak a quick pat as she runs by.

This perpetually disgruntled kitty plays by her own rules, coming within a few feet of you when called, then running away, knocking over water glasses, and demanding to be let outside, then inside, then outside, then...  Once in a while, she'll let you know you're appreciated by reaching up and patting you on the bottom.

Our very recent feline addition to the family is the adorable antithesis of Poppy, yet I have a dreadful, nagging feeling that once Poppy stops her hissy fits, she'll start teaching him her mean kitty ways.