Rolling on my side, then on my back, I find just the right spot for my tired furry body. “Miss Kitty, Miss Kitty,” I hear someone call. Lifting my head, with my ears to the wind, I hear nothing. I wait—no one calls. No one whistles. It must be a dream. As I settle back down on my bed, I begin to wonder why a beautiful, strong, intelligent Golden, who looks nothing like a cat, is called Miss Kitty. Some say my mother hated cats and I was named after one, so I would love them. Well…it worked. I like cats very much.

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