Hope

Celeste told me her name (as they all do) when she first came here to live.  Apparently she felt that Celeste fit her elegant, smoky grey fur and pale jade eyes, and it does.  However, given the latest circumstances, she should have chosen Hope.

There are long lace curtains framing the windows in the living room and reaching almost to the floor, rather old fashioned, but I like 'em.  Twice in the recent past, and not for the first time, creatures (a praying mantis and a lizard) have tired of the wild life and decided to come in and join the resident group.  Their port of entry is the side door next to one of the side windows near where Celeste dozes in a patch of sunlight.  Evidently they make some noise that I certainly don't hear, but the cat does and she goes to investigate.  Celeste is a hunter extraordinaire, scratching behind a small stand and/or shaking the intruder out of the curtains.  She seems disappointed when the whatever-it-is doesn't want some playtime before she dispatches it.  (The things I have to pick up.)

The thing is, having found her happy hunting ground, Celeste now spends a good portion of each day waiting by the curtain for her next visitor (i.e., victim).  She should have been named Hope.