Harry Mudd

We had gotten Harry from a vet clinic in Marshall, MI. Someone had found him in the street, barely alive and brought him to the clinic. No one ever claimed him. So we took him.
Harry was a red point Siamese. He was huge! He was my cat. When we moved to Seven Harbors, he introduced himself to the neighbors before we met them.
He loved to be petted - not picked up and cuddled, just petted. Harry also had a mean sense of humor. One morning I called my best friend on the phone. Before I could say "Hello", Harry snuck around the corner and grabbed my ankle and bit me. I yelled in shock and pain. Harry just sat there and looked at me, like, "Gotcha!" I swear he was smiling.
When it was time for school, I would yell up the stairs for the kids to get up, get dressed and come get breakfast. I would hear 5 pair of feet hitting the floor, footsteps towards the stairs then screams, thudding steps back to rooms and 3 doors slamming. Then I would hear someone yelling, "Mom! Get Harry! He won't let us come down the stairs!"
Sure enough, that dumb cat would be hiding beneath the top step waiting for bare feet to bite. I had to pick him up and toss him outside so the kids could get ready for school.
Bruce and I had a bookshelf headboard on our bed. Bruce took a glass of water to bed with him every night in case he woke up dry. One particular night I was woken up with Bruce bolting upright, sputtering. He was soaked. Harry had knocked his glass of water off onto his head. Less than a week later, I woke up to Harry pushing Bruce's glass toward the edge of the bookshelf again. I grabbed him and asked him if he wanted to live very long.
When everyone was gone to work and school, Harry would sit on the back of my chair and nap. He was always close. I was not allowed to pull him into my lap, but I was expected to scratch between his ears every once in a while.
His name was Harry to begin with, but after we had him for a few months, we added Mudd because he was always in trouble.
Bruce and I tried to have a date night every week. We went to our truck and backed out when we felt a thump and heard a shriek. Harry Mudd had been napping in the wheel well on our truck. He was still alive when we found him, but when we took him to the vet, she said he was really bad. He died later that night. I cried. Bruce said it was retribution for the glass of water.