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Once upon a time there was a little red rambler of a house. It was the house where I grew up in North Seattle, Lake City to be exact, my home until 2007. It was the house where I first fell in love with cats, dogs, hamsters, rats, snakes, and photography among other things. In that house lived a cat, several of them in fact. However the House of Wee was named for one in particular- Agassi, the tiniest, crankiest kitty I've ever shared a life with. We acquired Aggie and her sister, Samba, my sophomore year of high school. I named her after Andre Agassi as I was an avid tennis fan at the time, however I've since decided Agnes (or Aggie) was more fitting. The two sisters hated each other from the start.

Here's the part where I become an irresponsible pet owner. At eight months old, the very week they had appointments to get spayed, we found out both sisters were pregnant. Don't judge. Anyhow, the sisters had their litters and we found homes for all but one of Samba's kittens. He was all black and perfect; we kept him and named him Geoff. Now, pregnancy can stunt growth in cats and while Samba managed to grow to a normal adult cat size, our little Aggie stopped growing all together. She was to be permanently "wee". And still angry, now probably even more so. She disliked her sister, her new nephew, our dog Cody, and basically anyone who came over to the house. While she tolerated us and definitely had her moments, the only one she ever really adored was our elder cat, Max.

And this is how is was for a long time. However, as the years ticked by, one by one all of the cats and the dog, even my mother, passed away. All save but one- little Agassi. In time my boyfriend and I adopted a new dog, Rocco, and then later, three new kittens: Cleo, Clyde, and Fergie, all of whom relocated with me when I moved to Woodinville in 2007. Only the Royal Wee remained, as she would have been miserable adapting to indoor-only life, especially cooped up with three idiot kittens and a big, crazy, slobbery dog. So along with my uncle Jerry, she was the only inhabitant left in a place that once housed so many. My crabby little Wee, outliving all others.

And so it came to be that the house I grew up in became to me The House of Wee. It was no longer my house, but hers. With no one left to bother her she lived out the rest of her years in peace. My Aggie, The Royal Wee, as I'd come to call her, passed away in the Spring of 2010 and I sold the house shortly after. Though they are both now long gone, so many of my best memories will always include that old house and that tiny royal cat.