This is The Amazingly Improbable Celia.
Why improbable? Because her face and her body don't really match up: she stole the face from a pug, and the body from a beagle, and no, it really isn't that cute. (The photos... well, they make her look good.)
She has a rude sense of humor, lies through her teeth, and is even lazier than I am. I spent a lot of time with her recently, calling her as many names as I could think of, and then rhyming them all in a long ballad of Celia-ness. (Not a flattering song, but oh-so funny.)
She doesn't have many good qualities, but I will give her this much: In spite of my not-especially-warm reception of her, she still wanted to sleep curled up at my chest, staring at my face.
Which was kind of endearing.
And I just might admire that kind of insane, blind, foolish devotedness. Just a little.
Or, I don't know, maybe she just wanted to bite my nose off, as soon as I closed my eyes.
(Wholly undeserved. After all, she was the one who devoured The Joy of Cooking, not me, I don't care what she told you.)
But even in that case: I'd have to admire her cunning.
And her general Celia-ness.