This is Nike Bad Ass The Moth. She was stolen from a family that has barn cats they don’t spay or neuter, by a caring passerby who realized she had “fly strike.” (If you want to know what fly strike is, Google it. Don’t eat anything while you do.)

Fly strike is a horrible way to die, so the lady got in touch with the rescue I volunteer for, and the rest is history. One very reasonable vet bill later (Thanks, Beth!) Nike was ensconced in the bookstore. And our hearts. And Jack’s shoes.

She loves Jack’s shoes. (I think she has a foot fetish overall.) She sits on them and he rides her through the bookstore. He sits down and she attacks, clinging to one side as she attempts to bite through the toe. He can stand up and walk and she’ll continue her attack. I don’t have a photo, because when she does it every adult in the house falls into gibbering incapacitated mush: “Ohlookshe’sdoingitagain. Sweetiebabiepatootieadorablecutiepiekisskisskiss.”

Or variations thereto.

Nike takes up about a cubic foot of space. And sucks the oxygen out of the room. Grownups entering the bookstore squeal with delight when they see her. Children make a beeline. One of my friends isn’t speaking to me anymore, because her sixteen-year-old daughter isn’t speaking to her because the kitten didn’t go home with them. (Sorry, Cathie!)

Having left home too young, Nike picked up most of her life skills from watching our staff cats–she’s still a little soft on ear maintenance, but then it’s a big job for her–and we’re ready to audition permanent homes where she can rule as benevolent overlord. Nike has chased our 65-pound Lab away from her food dish; she also informed staff cat Owen – about eight times her size – that he needed to wake up and play with her, by whapping him with her paw. When he didn’t notice, she jumped onto his head and mauled him.

In accordance with T.S. Eliot’s advice, Nike has three names, her first given by the woman who rescued her. “Bad Ass” she acquired at Dr. Beth’s; I asked if “that kitten that just came in” was feral or aggressive, and Beth answered, “Yeah, not so much. But she’d like to think she is.” Then posted these photos.

I bet you’ve already worked out how she got “The Moth”.

So Nike Bad Ass The Moth awaits her furever fiefdom. Other dogs or cats are a bonus; she loves to play. Laptops are a must; she’s reformatted Jack’s twice this week. We don’t recommend her for small children. Nike loves to cuddle, but she’s so tiny, she could be squeezed to death.

We realize that people are reading this in Korea, Canada, and other cool places very far away from Big Stone, so we encourage you to get your next pet from a shelter or rescue. If anyone nearby is interested in Nike – or any of her foster siblings – come down to the bookstore and have a chat with her.

She’ll keep an ear out for you.