The mist delivered her — a cat far from home.
Misty sang then to grab your attention; she sings now to keep it.
A choir for meals and meetings, she brings conversations nobody asked for but everyone keeps up with.
When she demands to be held, you comply — she repays you with licks upon your nose and face.
She chose this kingdom — she marks it in kisses and song.
Misty, Weaver of Songs
Familiar No. 5
Sweet Pea Mist — dewy peach blossom and rain-washed sweet pea, a garden after the rain.
Even when the mist lifts, she lingers.