The little vagabond I named Sushi because I thought she would end up a doggie snack still isn’t. And based on recent developments I don’t think there is any danger anymore. This cat has pretty much taken over the house.

She has moved ahead of Joni and Newt in the pecking order with minimal effort. Quigley still is Top Dawg, but Sushi isn’t afraid of him. Every canine in the household gets gun shy when she appears.

Sushi will jump out from under couches and off tables to chase dogs and swipe at wagging tails then disappears when one starts looking for revenge. She stands muzzle to muzzle with Newt to fight. I’ve never seen a cat wrap their paws around a dog’s head until now.

This little white terrorist in training is also transforming the rest of the house. The Woman Whose Garbage I’m Responsible For has started adding an expletive first name when addressing her, something usually reserved for really bad dogs. She has also tried to move all breakable stuff beyond reach. Anyone who owns a curious cat knows that isn’t possible.

While exploring the back yard recently, Sushi was startled by the dogs’ play and bolted 20 feet up a holly tree. I was putting on shoes to retrieve the ladder when she bounded down, unruffled. The Little Precious has vaulted off the second floor banister twice with little residual effect.

She remains fearless, the most impressive trait she has. That doesn’t mean she will stand in harm’s way; she possesses an uncanny instinct about the difference between confused, playing, and really irritated dogs. And like every cat on the planet, she is adorable when she wants to be.

My first conscious memory was of a dog. As far back as I can recall, there has been one barking in our yard. Joe, Queenie, Tiger, always a wagging tail around the house. Then in 1980, we got a cat. Abby was mine for 20 years. She survived five moves, two lengthy disappearances, and a divorce. She remained with me throughout and provided way more comfort to me than I did to her. In the end the only thing I could do for her was stroke her coat one last time and end her suffering. I hope my children will do as much for me.

I haven’t needed or wanted a cat in the decade Abby has been gone. Living with dogs is much easier. Dogs are masculine animals. Overactive, easy to please, goofy, and transparent, they have simple needs and you know exactly where they stand.

Cats are much more inclined toward feminine traits. They are aloof and moody, require boatloads of attention, and you never know what one is thinking. They enter the world with a sense of entitlement and never justify why they feel this way.

But like the other feminine species we involve ourselves with, they have their moments. Sushi hasn’t yet endeared herself to me the way Abby did, but I think the day is coming quickly. My affection for her is growing enough that Quigley is getting jealous.

Here we go again.