This is Kitty:
She is the love of my life. She is also a terrorist and a menace. And sometimes a thug.
My boy’s dog, Charlie (or Charles, Carlos, or Señor Slobber) is terrified of Kitty, which may have something to do with the way she hisses and spits at him if he comes within 16 inches of her. But she means well! She’s just decided that it’s her house and she would prefer he not be in it. I feel that way about other people sometimes, too, so I really can’t hold it against her.
I got Kitty at an animal shelter in Maine in May 2009 and she has been through the best of times and the worst of times since then with me. She’s the perfect companion for the latter because she’s very strong and dependable, provided she gets fed regularly. Back when I got her, her name was Beach Bum which was the name the people at the shelter gave her when they found her. My then-boyfriend and I were at the shelter “just to look” (I’ve since learned there’s no such thing as just to look…) and when we reached in to pet her she came out of her cardboard makeshift kitty-hut with a timid meow and rubbed her head against our hands. My then-boyfriend wanted some old cat that was missing teeth and kind of homely (he never was a very good judge of character), but there was no way I was leavng without Beach Bum. It was love!
Unfortunately, Kitty didn’t agree and sunk her claws into meaty part of the boyfriend’s shoulder as he removed her from the cage to put her in the kitty-carrier the shelter had given us. She meowed pitifully all the way home and, upon arrival to the apartment, promptly hid underneath the nearest piece of furniture for the next 6 hours.
She gave us a chance, though, and got to know us, and rode happily with us all the way to Texas a month later. Seriously! She did not appreciate being put in her carrier, but once she was in and we were on the road she was fine for the entire four day trip. On about day 3, we managed to get her on a leash and let her out of the carrier to roam around the cabin of the truck. The only time she’s ever slept in my lap, or any other lap for that matter, was during that time.
When we got to Texas and broke up three weeks later, I kept the cat. He thought he was taking the cat, but after politely explaining otherwise (at one point I lifted his xbox over my head and threw it to the ground in protest. Not my proudest moment), he left and she stayed. I really can’t explain what it meant to me to have her there during that time. On my own for the first time in my life, lonely and confused and more than a little depressed, it was comforting to come home every day to the constant in my life… my kitty. She was always happy to see me! On my worst days, to have a little furry thing sit next to me on my $50 craigslist couch and purr and not judge and sometimes even get me to giggle… it kept me sane.
Kitty even converted my Boy from a cat-hater to a cat person. I’m just going to be honest here, she likes him more than she likes me. And I’m pretty sure he feels the same way. It’s totally ridiculous.
It’s fine though, because when we get New-Kitty in a couple of months, he can keep the old model and I’ll get the new upgraded version. Revenge, as I’m sure Kitty would agree, is very very sweet.
Today’s reading: Come Out to Play? :: Chirpings from the Nest