In the midst of grief, I’m unable to properly sum up the life of Brat Child.

Let’s just say she always made an impression.

Born Noel Ellena in 1997, Brat Child Walker Weir was adopted by my best friend Amy on Christmas. When Ames died two years later, I took in Brat Child and her sister Buddha (née Lily) and silently promised to make them feel safe and loved for the rest of their lives. Although I have cared for them longer than Ames did, in my mind, they were always her cats as well as my own.

Brat Child came by her name honestly (via former stepfather John Rodgers), which is to say she was a bit of a terror. Whether she was beating up our dog Duncan like a clawless prizefighter or fending off sneak attacks by everyone else, Brat Child always managed to cause havoc. She liked to lie in my lap, for as long as it suited her, and would crawl into it even if there was another cat already present. If Brat Child was there first, however, beware!

Brat Child loved eating tuna (but only from her own plate and not with those heathens we insisted on adopting), drinking from water fountains, hanging out on my shoulder while I worked, blithely stretching on the dining room table even though she knew full well she wasn’t supposed to, sleeping bonelessly (and sometimes falling off her bed/perch), stepping onto M’s laptop keyboard while trying to jockey for a better position in his lap, luxuriating in warm patches of sunlight or near heated radiators, kneading people’s jugular veins and resting on top of my desk chair. But her favorite activity was wraithing (see video below), a unique fighting game that involved rough-housing and making growling car engine noises.

What I’ll remember most about Brat Child was not her bratty demeanor or insistence on being the matriarch of our home. It was how how sweetly she loved and how loudly she’d purr when comfortable or triumphant. She was a champion cuddler, particularly during winter months, and while her “requests” for lovin’ were more like demands, I enjoyed every encounter.

At 17 years old, Brat Child was Ouiser Boudreaux from “Steel Magnolias,” Yzma from “The Emperor’s New Groove” and the Brain of “Pinky and the Brain.” Her Napoleonic dictates were the stuff of legend in our household, and her firm belief that she was born to rule the world seemed to appeal to all seven of her Twitter followers.

When, like her first mother, Brat Child’s kidneys started to fail, she took the decline in stride. So much so that M and I foolishly convinced ourselves that she would live forever. Alas, it was not meant to be. Brat Child died this morning with her loving parents by her side. Thanks to a kindly veterinarian, she died bravely.