You feel her staring at you, and in response you glance tentatively in her direction, looking for emotion in blue-green eyes. Her demeanor is expressionless, and you sigh, reaching out an arm to her, but recoiling almost as soon as the motion was thought of. You return to your previous task, but your eyes cannot help but be returned to her, sitting there in elegance, the very essence of tranquility.

You know that, in dealing with her, you must be cautious, because in the shortest of seconds, she can turn on you. Her eyes will narrow, and she will pierce you with a glare so menacing, that you will shrink back and whimper in pathetic apology. And in another second she will be serene again, reflecting grace and even affection in her aristocratic movements.

She finally stirs, and a smile forms itself onto your face. She stretches and yawns, and even in those simple motions she conveys an arrogance which, somehow, only makes her more perfect.

With another yawn she curls up and flexes those elusive claws, and in a matter of seconds she is sleeping, light purring accompanying her steady breaths.