Grania came to us from the Muskingum County Animal Shelter. I got the call about a frightened mitten-paw, possibly abused. I was told she wasn't a cuddler, but she needed the affection she couldn't show. We brought her home.
She's a lovely cat, but skittish. If you get too close — an area of varying size depending upon her mood, time of day, zodiac cycle — she disappears so fast you expect to see a cat-shaped dustcloud left behind. Her snowy fur is softer than thistledown and twice as hard to remove from your clothing. If you manage to get close enough to pick her up she immediately curls around herself in an armadillo's attitude of self-protection. She won't struggle to get away, but if your attention wanes for even a moment she'll be gone.
Grania has become a quiet, ghostly part of the household. She is finally, after five years, at the point where she will allow us to come into a room with her. She has claimed the top of the TV and two cushions as her property. If you come across her anywhere else in the house she'll run away. But if she's in the safety of her pillows or television she can ignore your presence.