She was beautiful and smart, free-spirited and mischievous.  We called her The Little Terrorist when she was a kitten because she was always pouncing and rolling with our other cats.  She was truly my husband's cat.  She couldn't sleep unless she could lay her head on his hand at night.  When my husband had knee surgery and came home with a CPM machine, she would growl and bat at it, because it was hurting him.  Little Bit hated his bandages, his physical therapist, the whole experience.  She loved to ride in the car.  My husband would pick me up at work, and I'd see Little Bit's face peeking at me.  She would ride with her front paws on the window ledge, so she could see everything.  She was truly fearless.  Our other cat, Elsie, is her mother.  When Little Bit was a kitten, I took her and her brothers outside to play for awhile.  Immediately, Little Bit ran to the nearest tree and scaled it, climbing too high for me to reach.  I remember her kitten face looking down at me, while I pleaded with her to come down.  She climbed down only when she had seen everything the tree had to offer.