This is a cat post, so any feline unfriendlies can just mosey on by and get on with their eyerolling and under-the-breath muttering about crazy twitches and litter boxes.
Elizabeth Withey wrote this touching article in the Edmonton Journal the other day, which I read on my coffee break and subsequently decided to write about. There are two reasons for this:
1) The lady loses a cat and has her Ode to Pussy on the front page of the arts section. Front page! Remind me again why I'm not publishing in dailies?
2) I too have been the proud owner (and sad mourner) of numerous pets.
In October 2008, I became adoptive mummy to a charming, fuzzy rapscalion I just can't say no to. (As evidenced by the basket of toys, gourmet food and $50 brush I have purchased for her.) So I'm sharing my perspective. (Why? Because it's my blog, damnit, and if you don't like it, you can go elsewhere. No, wait: where are you going? Come back! I renege!)
Ahem.
On the scale of pet crazies, I fit somewhere above the "leave them to run amok in the streets" but below the "give them hats and their own seat at the table". Right around the middle. Don't get me wrong: I love my cat. When I go away for a few days, I do miss her snuggling next to me and look forward (often cringingly) to coming home and seeing what fresh hell she hath wrought on my apartment.
It's nice to have company when you live alone. Even if said company is less verbally responsive than a human being, they'll still give you sass if you're not quick with the food.
It doesn't hurt that I chose a cat (or, more correctly, she chose me: grabbing onto my sleeve as I walked past her at the Humane Society) who is basically a small, four-legged version of myself. Smart? Check. Obnoxious? Check. Full of mischief? Check.
So yes, my furry little mini-me is a companion and pseudo-kid (or as close to a kid as I'm willing to get anytime soon.) I know she's "just" a cat. I know that she's not going to outlive me and I get that her passing, while sad, will not devastate me to the point where I'm going to tattoo her image on my shoulder. But I will be sad. Just as I've been sad at the passing of all my childhood and young adulthood pets. Those were family animals. This one's all mine. So maybe it's a little different. I think I'm a bit more possessive of this one. Especially since she's a mommy's girl.
Don't deny me my kitten love. As silly as it sounds, when the shelter referred to me as providing my cat with her "forever home", I got a little choked up at the thought of rescuing an animal that otherwise might have a shit life on the streets. Even animals given homes are often neglected. Ollie has a little friend who comes and sits at the window while they take turns batting at each other through the screen. I know the owners (they're irritating loudmouths across the alley) and my bile rises every time I see this kitten cross the street. She's barely 8 months old, I'd wager, and she's already knocked up with her first litter and likely not to make it to her fifth birthday. One day soon, if this keeps up, I'm of a mind to whisk her off to the shelter, where she can safely have her kittens and they can find her a new home. A home that, hopefully, won't treat her like a dispensable source of entertainment.
I'd go on further, but Olivia is in need of snugglage.
2 comments:
please provide more detail on this $50.00 brush. where did you get said brush? why did you buy said brush? As a mini-you, is olivia also a lil pretentious, so all brushes less expensive are not satisfactory?
You Crazy lady.
It's the Furminator. Behold its power and know why one would purchase it. Anything that magically eliminates oodles of cat hair is a godsend. Not pretentious.
http://www.furminator.com
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