contributed photo Sara Jordan-Heintz and her husband Andy adopted Madeline on Nov. 18, 2014.

My husband Andy says our pet Madeline is more like a dog than a cat. Indeed, she greets you when you arrive home (sometimes with a lick from her sandpaper tongue), she sleeps between us most nights, has never met a toy she didn’t like and wants to be in the middle of any activity. I often say where two or three gather is the Lord — and Madi. She has become a very loyal and patient companion to our two-year-old daughter Louisa, who calls her “Mahgie.”

We adopted Madi from the Animal Rescue League of Marshalltown on Nov. 18, 2014. At the time, she was Kix Critter of the Week and was named Holly. We made Holly her middle name. I loved her markings. While her coat is primarily white, she has black botches too that remind me of dairy cows. The backs of her legs are black, making it look as though she’s wearing pantyhose. Her little toe beans alternate black and pink.

But like many pet adoptions, there’s a period of transition. The afternoon we brought her back to our apartment, she was docile — she never even meowed. Quiet, reserved and litter-trained. That was promising. But despite not being a kitten anymore (she was estimated to be around 2-3 years old at the time), Madi loved jumping on things, namely, dangling off the edge of my desk chair, digging her claws into the leather.

A milk lover, she’ll give you her steely stare as she watches your vain attempt to enjoy your morning bran flakes, with that overbearing knowledge you’ll eventually give in and let her lick up the last remnants of the sweet white liquid. She adores tapioca pudding and insists on a lick or two (only) from a snack cup.

I recall Andy’s grandmother Jo Thoele being on cat sitting duty while we were on a trip, complicated with some weather challenges that made the cat end up staying at the assisted living center about a month before we could double back to Kansas City. (Long story). Jo told us she’d developed a habit of going into another room and shutting the door to eat a meal when Madi’s begging got to be too much hassle. I think we both blushed upon learning our little tuxedo cat had become such a tyrant. But I also knew that despite the work of caring for a cat when you’re in your nineties, Jo was sad to see Madi go.

Like many cats, Madi had come from a hoarding situation, with the ARL taking her in to rehome. We assumed her past included at least a stint on a farm because whenever we purchase corn (and proceed to shuck the ears) she dives headfirst into the trash can, hoping for a quick chomp before we take the inedible husk and silk away from her.

So often that joy and anticipation of getting a new pet comes on the heels of loss. When I was two years old my family adopted a stray tortoiseshell cat we named Mittens. She died when I was 14 in 2004. I moved way too quickly in adopting another cat about 10 days later, but my heart needed to be filled in the way only fellow pet owners know. I found a gorgeous calico cat from a local rescue, adopted out via PetSmart, who became this only child’s constant companion. I named her Natalie Wood. She’d always say “hello” to me each morning (her meow truly made that sound). It was hard to leave her back home when I went off to the University of Iowa, but I tried to visit as often as I could. She passed away in March 2014 from lymphoma. That fall, Andy, then my fiancé, and I moved from Ottumwa into an apartment in Marshalltown that allowed cats. I ached for another cat. Not a replacement for Natalie, but a creature I could love just as much. Andy being a tad more practical about settling into our new life, suggested we wait a few months before even considering getting a pet. I waited a respectable two weeks before I put in an adoption application. Andy came around, and agreed we could keep her. The rest is history.

I recall when Louisa was first getting interested in climbing our stairs. I of course was right behind her, but a concerned Madi hopped up, following one step behind as Louisa proceeded, as if to say, “I’ve got you too tiny human.”

Every November 18, we celebrate her “Madiversary,” usually with some treats and a new toy. I’m thrilled this year marks a decade together. But despite her antics, which garnered her the longstanding nickname “The Gremlin,” eventually sweetened to the moniker “Gremie,” we couldn’t have asked for a better cat. Happy Madiversary!

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Sara Jordan-Heintz is an author and journalist who is a regular contributor to the Times-Republican and also a former staff writer. She, her husband Andy, their daughter Louisa and their cat Madeline reside in Norwalk.