Do you ever find yourself trying to remember why the heck you started doing something a certain way?

I do. I never in a million years thought that one day I would ever wonder why I contemplated rescuing a five-week old feral cat.

I never imagined that down the road I would be referring to her as Prudence - the cat from hell.

A perfectly good example of her quasi terrier feline qualities was Saturday night. Or very early Sunday morning.

In the vague distance of the middle of the night (3:30 a.m. to be exact) I heard the gorilla sounds of Prudence circling the hardwood floor of the bedroom. And then she was on top of me screaming meooooooow repeatedly as she trounced my body. It didn't matter if I turned on my side, rolled into a ball to fend her off. She persisted until I managed to push her off the bed.

For a moment I thought I was safe but suddenly she was there again screaming and thumping her feet as she aimed for her target - me. No matter, I soon realized. She wins. I have a full bladder.

And so she got her spoonful of canned food at 3:43 a.m. This, she does on a regular basis. For years, she was a perfectly good alarm clock. You could go to bed assured that she would wake you promptly at 5:30 a.m. But in the past couple of years (or centuries to me) she has gotten to this point of needing to wake me at ungodly hours. And lately, it seems, she forgets the first wake up call and comes back an hour later for seconds.

She hasn't always been the cat from hell. She use to be a perfectly wonderful companion. When it was time to take the Great Dane (Lance) out for a walk. Prudence would go along and run from shrub to shrub on the walk. She was terrific.

Then she somehow managed to jump over the balcony and fracture her pelvis. We looked for her for days. It was Fritzie, the Rottweiler , who found her curled into the foundation of the building. Somehow, the veterinarian said, it looked like she got bitten and hit by a car. Prudy had come home to die.Perhaps that is when it all started due to the additional love and attention she was given.

When she was about seven, Lesley started giving her the tablespoon of meat as a daily treat. She said she figured she was getting up there in her years and could use the extra fat in her diet.

That was a lifetime ago. Prudence is now 21 years of age.

She really is a good cat. Very trusting. Too trusting sometimes. She and Bogey, the great dane, have "words" periodically. He likes to bully her with his size. But when we hold her at his level and let her take a few swipes at him; it isn't long before he tires of the game.

Anyway, if you come across me and I look sleep deprived I probably am because that dang cat has no doubt interrupted my sleep cycle. Any ideas on how to break her of it humanely?

The opinions in this column do not necessarily represent those of this publication.