I am old. I am the Queen. You will submit to me.

This is what I had typed up on my old website:

My people adopted me from the Kitty Jail in Lancaster on November, 7^th 1995. I was approximately 1 year old at the time. I was very lucky. The people that adopted me earlier had returned me. They didn't understand that I needed some attention. I tried to tell them by chewing up everything in their house, but they didn't listen. Greg worked with me and got me to stop chewing on things. One thing that he did (and still does for that matter) is crouch down with me when I ate. It calmed my fears quite a bit. I felt like I was safe. As I said, he still does this. It's not because I'm scared, but because I have him twisted around my furry little paw. I have got to hand it to him though, he has really listened to me and learned my meow language and my body language. There is very little that he doesn't understand.

Greg and Michon say that I am not a normal kitty. Just because my favorite food is Deli Cat Dry Cat Food and not their boring people food doesn't make me weird. I do eat some canned Friskies. It has to be the sliced or the shredded variety. Since I am not a seafood fan, it shouldn't contain any smelly fish. I don't eat treats made for cats. Every morning Greg goes outside and gets me some really good grass. Since he only cuts the grass once a month (if even that often!), there is always plenty for me. He cuts it up and puts it on a paper plate for me. If it is wet, he will dry it off. To all my furry brethren, you should try to get your people to do this for you. There is nothing like the taste of soft, green grass in the morning!

One of my favorite pastimes is sitting at the back door and watching the birds. Every now and then one of them will fly so close that I can almost taste him. I don't know if I would like the taste, however. I doubt that it would taste like Deli Cat. I sit on a white file box that my people built just for me. Every now and then I need to kick dB off of it. He seems to understand. At least he leaves when I bitch at him. I also like to play with small fuzzy balls. I think I heard Michon call them craft pom-poms. There are some that are too small, and some that are too big. My favorite size is the ones that are about 1.5" in diameter. Greg built us some fabric-wrapped shelves for a lot of the windows. We both like to sleep on them and watch what is happening in our people's world. Michon will throw the fuzzy balls to me when I am on the brown one near the front door. I will try to catch them and bat it back to her. Sometimes it goes in the wrong direction, but she doesn't give up. She will fetch that one or find another one to throw to me. I think that I have her trained almost as well as I do Greg.

I also really enjoy quiet time by myself. If I can convince someone to open the basement door, I will go down there and sleep on the Berber carpet. If they won't let me go downstairs, I will go into our kitty-bedroom upstairs. There is a chest with a chair pad on it in front of a window. The window is open all of the time (except for big storms and winter). I really like it up there. When they get visitors, I will go there to keep away from them. My people's friends don't seem to understand me and instead of trying to train them, I just hide (especially if they bring kids!).

I think that I sat here and typed long enough. It is time to go yell at one of my people and see if they can figure out what I want.

I am mean. I love food. I will make a mess with my water.

My story is pretty interesting. My slaves'...err...humans' friend used to have me. I was born from a semi-feral mom. I moved across the state to my first Dad's house. I lived there for about 4 years. He decided on a career change that would keep him on the road for a week or two at a time, so Jasmine and Peter allowed me to stay with them. Well, Dad One changed his mind about his new career, but Greg, Michon, and Kimberly just couldn't give me back. After all, I lived there for a few months and just started getting used to everyone. I never liked people. Greg was okay. I would sit on his lap when he would visit, but no one else's. For whatever reason, things changed. I now sit on many different laps and I don't totally hate people. I am getting more tolerant and I love being with people. I also love to eat. I have gained a lot of weight at my new home. But my humans love me just the way I am. They just wish my hair on my rear end wouldn't collect so much, uh, stuff. I really don't like anyone touching me back there to clean. I know it's it my best interest though. I also have a vision issue. My eyes kinda point in different directions. It makes it hard to see some stuff. Especially my water. So, I use my hands to find it. Then I drag it across the floor. The water splashes every where. My humans love walking through the kitchen in their stocking feet. Well, I love it when they do. Their feet get soaked! It's hilarious! I am also very protective of myself. I have razor sharp teeth and I know how to use them. And, I use them often. Except on Greg. He is a special human.

I am a lap kitty. I am a bed kitty. I am a food kitty. I tolerate pretty much everything.

My life started with a different family. After a few years, they just didn't want to care for me any longer. I ended up living in the basement all by myself. They finally placed an ad online. Then my new family read it. They came to see me and fell in love. I mean, really, how could you not? Anyway, they ended up taking me to my new home. They understand my needs much better than the previous family. They were told that I didn't eat canned food. I disliked people food. I was not a lap cat. And more. Well, I love canned food and people food. I live on my humans' laps and in their bed. I am so much happier here. 

I was a great cat. I am missed. I was only 14 or so.

From an older website:

Hi. Thanks for stopping by to learn about me. I think that you will find that I am much more interesting than Jasmine. If you don't believe me, just read on.

I chose my people on May 24^th, 1994 at the Humane League of Lancaster County. I was about 2 or 3 years old when I went home with Greg and Michon. I really don't understand why they decided on me. After all, all I did was hiss and growl at them when they took me out of my cage to get to know me. The rumor is one of the reasons that I was adopted by them was that I was already front de-clawed. I know that is important to them, but they don't have the heart to have it done to one of us. It really doesn't matter why we got together. I am just glad that we did.

Since I was homeless when I was arrested and had lost my wallet with my photo ID,  no one knew my name. My people had a hard time trying to come up with something for me. After the dust settled, my new name became dB. That is not a misprint. My name is spelled with a lower-case d and an upper-case b. For those that are not familiar with the term, dB is the abbreviation for decibel. A decibel is a unit of measure for how loud something is. I admit that I have a big mouth, so my name is very fitting. Plus, it is easy to spell!

Before I came to live with Greg and Michon, I was a combination inside/outside kitty. Now, I am strictly a housecat. Sometimes I miss the great outdoors. I will, on occasion, bolt out the front door when it is opened. Since I do not know the area, I just freeze like a dumb deer in the headlights. It really is a big world out there!. My people scoop me up and take me back inside. I think that they are more shaken up than me! When I first came home, they understood that I liked the outdoors. I don't know whose bright idea it was, but suddenly I was sporting a harness and a leash. That was absolutely terrible. The only things that belong on a leash are dogs and kids! They tried the leash thing a couple of times until they finally gave up. Now I am usually content just sleeping in the window and watching the world go by. I can't get lost (or worse) that way. When living in my old house, there was one time when I was out terrorizing the old neighborhood and somebody didn't appreciate my sense of humor. They decided to shoot me with a BB gun. I still have the BB on the side of my head just below my right ear.

I have my people trained pretty well. Every morning, Greg gets up first. When he gets out of the shower, he drops down to the floor and scratches my ears for me. He will also scratch the top of my head and my neck under my collar. I taught him to touch my belly when I had enough on one ear and it is time for me to roll over for him to get the other ear. The best part about getting my ears scratched is my hair flies everywhere. Greg usually gets some extra "stuff" in his cup of coffee! Unfortunately, they both got used to my hairs in their food and drinks and don't seem to get upset about it anymore.

The one thing that I can't seem to teach Greg is my language. He gets some of the basics, but that is about it. He says that I am not smart enough and don't know how to talk. I think it is the other way around. This just proves that people are not as smart as cats! Someday their brains may evolve to our level. Until then, we need to talk "baby talk" to them.

I also have Michon trained pretty well. I like to jump up and rub my nose goblins and greasy hair all over her face. She actually looks forward to this. She calls them head butts. I call it proving my theory on people intelligence. I also have her trained to clean up after me. Every couple of days she gets on her hands and knees and scoops out the litter box. I am definitely in control here.!

Every morning after my people eat their breakfast, I have them trained to give me treats. Sometimes it is leftovers, but usually it is something out of a pouch made just for us. While Jasmine eats grass, I get to eat real food. I do eat some grass, but it is for medicinal purposes. Sometimes I make a game out of it. I will leave some treats and grass on my plate. Michon keeps the plate on the floor for me to eat later. I just sit back and watch. Eventually, one of my people will step in or kick the plate across the kitchen. It usually makes quite the mess. And they say that we kitties don't have a sense of humor!

Well, it is time for me to go lick my butt. When I am done, I will give Michon kitty-kisses. For some strange reason, she seems to enjoy that.