The matted gray cat, with the chewed up whiskers and drooping eyeball named Willow, has always been there for me. She refuses to leave, no matter how many places I seem to leave her. It should have been expected to happen, considering the very first day I got her was also the very first time I lost her.

It happened at the Washburn fair, when I simply dropped her in the road, not on purpose. It is something that happens at a young age, because when you are two, you do not understand the concept of continually grasping an object so as to not lose it. Lesson learned. After making it back home and piecing it together that I had already lost Willow, we sent my cousins on the mission of a lifetime to find her and get her back to me. They succeeded, and she was mailed to me, only one of many times that she has experienced the postal service (hopefully she has had a friendlier service than most).

On another fateful night, my family and I were traveling through Missouri, or as we like to call it the Show-Me-Your-Goods-And-I'll-Take-Them-State, and we were staying at a hotel. That night our car, sitting under a security light with a security guard on duty outside, was broken into (obviously the security decided to get a doughnut). Almost everything was gone, that is everything but Willow. She didn't care too much to be taken advantage of by the Missourian strangers, so she jumped out of my suitcase to continue her stay with me.

Her next adventure came from the senselessness of me. My mom and I were at the mall, and like all little kids, I had to use the bathroom. While inside the stall, I noticed a small shiny box on the side of the stall. Using my most logical thoughts, I realized the brilliance of the bathroom designers. They gave me a home for Willow to stay in while I relieved myself! Ingenious! As we were leaving the mall however, we began to acknowledge that one of our party was missing. We trekked all over that mall, retracing the many steps that we had taken just to expose her hideout (and no, I could not have just told my mom where she was, because children have the memory of a goldfish, and I truthfully did not know where she was). When we remembered my trip to the bathroom, my mom found her in her new abode, thankful that the box only contained Willow.

And there goes the adventures of Willow, with many more still to come. She has found a place in all our hearts and hopefully will drift down to another generation, if I could give my trust that she wouldn't be flushed down the toilet in the attempt to see if she can in fact swim. Or maybe she will just always be my matted gray cat with the chewed-up whiskers and drooping eyeball.