Tortoiseshell cats have the reputation of being “divas,” “feisty,” “strong-willed,” “independent,” “aloof,” and with a temper, given to hissing and scratching – in other words, a general pain in the owner’s ass. There’s even been a study that supposedly validates this. But yet cat lovers, including me, have given their hearts to and shared their homes with beautiful tortoiseshell kittens and cats.

(There is also some disagreement on whether they are beautiful or not. Some find their mottled fur patterns ugly. I don’t. I once saw a carpet that had a pattern that looked like a tortie. It was an ugly carpet. The cats themselves are gorgeous. But I digress.)

There’s even a name for the supposedly difficult personality of torties – tortitude. It’s meant to encapsulate the sometimes-unpleasant attitudes they might display. (The Urban Dictionary says “torbies” (tortie/tabby combos) share these traits.) I, however, have never found torties’ attitudes unpleasant.

Oh, mine have had their moments. Louise was a toe-biter as a kitten. I vividly remember her needle-like teeth piercing my tender toe flesh. But she grew out of it and turned into a loving, totally agreeable cat with an amazing purr. I could cradle her in my arms and she would sigh with satisfaction. I would melt.

Not that torties can’t be mischievous or quirky. Anjou once got into my purse and stole a chocolate bar. (I know chocolate is supposed to be bad for cats, but she suffered no ill effects.) She was also fond of eating a few slices of bread from a loaf and making croutons from the rest of it. The first night I got her, Bijou slept across my throat. Later, she was known to scratch the heater in the bathroom that was next to her litter box. (“Listen,” we said. “Kitty’s playing the harp.” Though I suppose it really sounded more like a steel drum. But I digress again.) Bijou also once crashed a party I had thrown, sauntering into the living room with a tampon applicator held in her mouth, looking like a little kitty Groucho Marx, but more embarrassing.

One time at the NYC Cat Show, I got to spend a little time with a breeder who told me about torties. He said they were “the candy bar of cats – a little bit sweet and a little bit nuts.” (He also told me how to tell the difference between a Norwegian Forest Cat and a Maine Coon. It has to do with the shape of the cats’ muzzles. But I digress yet again.) (I was in New York on business and stayed a couple of extra days. In addition to checking out the cat show, I also took in the Broadway musical Cats. It was my Kitty Weekend. But I digress more.)

I started adopting torties when I went looking for calicos and the shelter didn’t have any. Torties are a kind of calico or calicos are a kind of tortie. I can never remember which. I came home from the shelter with my first cat, who was also my first tortie. I’ve actually had more torties than I have calicos over the course of my cat-owning life.

So. Tortitude. Is it a real thing? If you ask me, tortitude isn’t a drawback. To me, tortitude equals sweet, loving cats that look much better than a walking carpet. (Sorry, Chewbacca. It had to be said.)