Last March, my brother called to tell me that our father had passed away from a sudden heart attack at the age of fifty-two. I was twenty years old, a sophomore in college, and I had just lost the man I loved the most in the whole world. I became extremely depressed, almost to the point of suicidal, and I think I took it the worse in my family because I was "daddy's little girl." He was my best friend and the person I went to for everything. I didn't want to get out of bed, I didn't want to eat, I found it even painful to breathe. Almost two months after my father passed away, my boyfriend came home with this scrawny, whiny orange tabby female kitten that someone had thrown out of a truck on a backroad. I fell in love with her immediately and knew I had to keep her (my older two cats were with my parents because my roommate, at the time,was allergic). A little over a year later, Callie has become the holy terror of the family but I would not have it any other way. I believe it was because of that kitten that I had something to look forward to waking up in the morning and something to love when I needed it the most. Animals just seem to sense when you are lonely or sick and are there to give you love unconditionally. This may sound a little strange, but, I believe my dad was looking down at me that night when my boyfriend found that kitten. I needed her as much as she needed me.