She nags. Once she's up in the morning, she's on your case. Just try to do email before breakfast -- you'll hear about it. But then, morning isn't the only time of day she nags. Just try walking into the kitchen -- she's there. Doesn't matter if the food is in her bowl or not. If you don't stay and watch her eat (or pretend to), she will let you know her displeasure in no uncertain terms.
She won't fetch. Every morning she sits on the side of the bed while I get dressed, waiting for me to open the sock drawer where I keep her toys. (They go in there at night because she will find them at 2 a.m. and run wild through the house tossing her mice and fish.) I throw one and she bolts after it like a cheetah. She tosses it around with abandon, then abandons it and comes back for another. The thrill is in the chase.
She still has bits of her inner alley cat -- if you rub her soft furry tummy (because it really is warm, like a mitten and it's cold here!), she will grab your wrist with her claws and gently put her teeth around the artery in your wrist, implying that if you don't gently remove it and fast, she'll claw the heck out of you or bite down and leave you in a pool of blood on the floor.
But she purrs like a motorboat and she's learned how to snuggle. And if anyone tried to take my sweet purr girl away from me, this silly black an white fur ball that makes me laugh -- well, they're not going to get very far.
Sweet Lizzie (and she is sweet) is here to stay. And nothing makes me happier.
(The last two photos were taken by my friend, Judy Winter)