Just some random words here I suppose. We’ll see where this train takes us.
I realize that cats are a recurring theme here. As fascinating as they are for me I’ve never actually been a cat person. If I had first pick I would probably want something like a german shepherd or even a golden retriever. Before living here I’ve never managed to quite settled down enough to have a pet of my own.
I remember when I could barely walk my mother had a black cat, though his name I’ve forgotten. He was jealous of me and pretty fucking intimidating to a baby. I remember that he would corner me, locking me in an intense, hateful stare. My mother told me he even kicked my ass a few times. That part I don’t remember. I’m pretty sure I didn’t fight back because, who hits a housecat? A child knows what’s right before the world tries to convince him otherwise.
She was quick to get rid of the cat. Think she gave it to a friend or something. . .he still managed a decent life.
My first cat, Rudie, was obtained from a roommate’s friend. He was practically dumped in my lap.
“Kittens!” they said. “Hold the kittens! Take one home!”
I didn’t want a damn kitten.
Then after a visit or two I realized, sweet jesus! these people are feeding their cats dog food. These little half Bengal-knocked-up wild things are going to go blind from a lack of tyrosine.
I took a damn kitten.
It was love.
Though he grew up to be a complete dick.
He spends most of his time on the carport or in the forest playing sentinel. Eyes scanning for anything that possibly tries to survive in his kingdom. Mind sharp. He’ll eat up attention but watch out–he will turn and attack you with minimal warning. Little tyrant.
He digs me, he’s cool with my roommate. He despises all other souls.
Which makes him a fucking character and I love the little bastard. He’s a good boy. He’s not bad often, but when he is of course. . .
Then there’s Mintkey. She’s a recent addition. Again, not exactly by any effort of my own.
A couple of months ago I heard a ruckus outside. It was a kitten, maybe six weeks old – on the roof. Rudie had her cornered. Got a ladder and tried slowly approaching her, but she was as wild as a fucking panther. I ended up having to hold her by the scruff of the neck, cradling her very carefully upside down while she hissed and spit at me.
My plan was to bring her inside, put her in the front room that’s unfinished and unused, give her a few good meals and send her off. I didn’t want another cat. One is enough trouble.
I managed to get her in the room but not before she bit me. Just a drop of blood but suddenly my roommate starts raving about rabies and the fucking plague. He convinced me to keep her at least two weeks to make sure she didn’t have anything deadly.
She ate like she’d been starving. Every time I fed her I sat down a little closer, waiting quietly. She slowly got used to me and one day I managed to talk her into a pet. Long story short, she became a permanent addition.
I just realized I have plans and I’ve been ranting about my fucking cats for twenty minutes.
Maybe I am the crazy cat person I claim not to be. Or if not now, soon.