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Every Wednesday around 7 a.m., a medical lab man named Milas comes to my apartment to draw my blood.

He has come —  same man, same day, same time — for at least two and half years to keep a close eye on a lung condition.

We have become very good friends.

But this is not about me.

It’s about my very attached cat named Sugar, or Sug.

I have told you about her several times, but she has grown to her full size now and is 1 year old.

She is a diva if I ever saw one — moody, opinionated, the runt of the litter called Siberian forest cat.

She is quite picky about her food.

She plays like a wild feline, and her most prominent trait is how quickly she decided I was truly her mother.

I cannot take a step without her. Whether I am making the bed, washing my hands or my hair, cleaning, writing a column or anything I do as routine, she is right there.

One thing she does that drives me bonkers happens when I am at my desk writing, or worse, using my scissors to cut out my weekly column so I can put it in my note book for future reference. I do not know which one she loves more, the big scissors or the Scotch tape.

The scissors scare me, and well, you should see my long-haired white cat after she grabs the tape then rolls in it. Just imagine the scene.

Sug is filled with joy the more she is stuck together with rounds of her tape.

But you still have not heard the rest of the story. She seems to know when she is sufficiently stuck together, so where does she go next? Yup, the litter box.

And what does she do in the litter box? Yup. She rolls some more.

You may ask, “Why does Jean not stop this nightmare?” Well I can tell you why not. My unorthodox sense of humor has me beside myself with laughter.

As awful as the situation is, without a doubt it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and she thinks so too.

I hope I have painted how she looks and what she does but the most revealing thing I can tell you about Sug happened just this morning.

Sure enough, Milas knocked on my door at 7 a.m. to draw my blood.

Sugar was snoozing on the wide leather arm of my chair and Milas stood beside me to work.

Nothing was disturbing my little kitty until Milas slipped his needle out and headed for my arm.

The very second that big needle touched my arm, Sug sprang to life, and I swear to you, she let out a blood curdling feline scream that parallels the wild scream of the bobcats Bonny and Clyde that we had at Tyson Research where I worked.

Her scream stunned me and Milas, and we talked about it after.

She is so physically and emotionally attached to me and seems to feel everything I feel. We believed she was feeling the pain of the blood draw while I had zero pain of my own.

Following her scream she ran toward Milas and the needle, but stopped after seeing I was fine.

This could explain why my Siberian forest cat follows my every step, just so she could literally take my pain.

I got a stomachache and couldn’t eat one time, and do you know she would not eat one thing all day? I guess this started before today. I just didn’t put it all together.

I am one blessed person to have such an angel to take such care of me, don’tcha think?

The view from the mountain is wondrous.

Jean Brody is a passionate animal lover and mother. She previously lived in Winchester, but now resides in Littleton, Colorado. Her column has appeared in The Sun for more than 25 years.