It's been on my list to feature a life lately post for some time now. I felt like I had quite a lot of random photos piling up, but when I went to have a look-through, I discovered that I actually only have a load of photos of my cats. And so, here we have life lately: cat edition.
I have three cats: Peter, Gogo, & Little Girl. I'm quite allergic to them, especially Peter, and I don't think I've actually been able to breath clearly for several years now. Eye drops are a daily routine, and I always keep tissues near me. I used to be put off about it, not considering myself a cat person, but that's all changed in the past year. I grew up with cats - when I was born, I believe we had Smokey, Cinder, & Peaches. I used to get into a lot of trouble when I was younger, and more than once my mum caught me with the scissors trying to cut my cats' ears and whiskers off! I also used to dress them in my onesies when she was out of the room. I terrorized those poor cats. After those three passed on (they were quite old when I was quite young), my dad brought home Pumpkin, an orange tabby with only one eye (his other was clawed out in a fight). I named him Pumpkin because it was nearing Halloween when we got him and he had an imprint on his side that looked like a pumpkin, at least in the eyes of a three year old. Pumpkin went senile as he got older and one night I was on the phone to a boy I was dating and I said to him, "This cat is going to die any day now." I got out of the shower that night and my parents had rushed off to put Pumpkin down after he'd had a stroke.
After Pumpkin, we were left with just Peter - a cat that I had gotten for my 9th birthday in lieu of a parakeet. Born with only a nub for a tail, Pete Pete is the most neurotic cat in the world, mostly due to post-traumatic stress from an abusive home before he came to us. The vet speculates his jaw had been broken, along with other limbs (I'm not actually sure if he was born without a tail, or if it had been cut off in this abusive home). Even after having Pete for 11 years, he sill flinches every time you walk into the room, and if you make a motion to pet him, he howls and runs away. But in the mornings, he'll be sweet and come into bed with me and rub his nose all over my face (which isn't so sweet when you consider my allergies, but it's the thought that counts). One night I fell asleep with my face pressed into Peter, and when I woke up the next morning my eyes were bright red, completely blood shot, and feeling mighty toasty (a term I came up with to describe how my eyes feel from allergies - like they've been yanked out of my head and are toasting in the oven). I went into work with my eyes flaming and twitchy, keeping my head down and hoping no one thought I was on drugs.
After my pup Moses died last March, my father was extremely depressed. He moped about in a bad mood, talking endlessly about how angry he was that Moses was gone, and what he could have done to have saved him (nothing). My mother and I were at our wits end on how to make him feel better, so we sat down and talked about getting him a cat. He was always more of a cat person than a dog one, anyways, and Pumpkin had been him best friend until he died. I was steadfast against another cat in the house due to my allergies, but I obliged. And so in came Gogo, a clumsy, dopey 17 pound cat with a high-pitched girly meow. I hated Gogo at first - he had the ability to open doors and would come into my room at 6am to wake me up on my days off. I had picked him up when we first got him, mistaking his meow as a pathetic cry for help. He shredded my rib cage (not to mention my brand new shirt). Hated that cat - hated him!
One day last summer, I was leaving the house when a fat little grey cat came running up to me, screaming this hoarse throaty cry. I was alarmed and tried to get away, worrying that the cat had rabies or something (her eyes looked crazed and she was all sunburnt). Then she came up and rubbed her little body all over my ankles and purred up a storm. She came back the next week, and started to live in my yard. I'd have dinner on the back deck and she'd jump up and eat the food off my plate. I'd go inside and she'd sit at the back door and wait for someone to come back out. I'd get in late at night, and she'd be sitting on the back deck waiting for me to cuddle before bed. You could pick her up and she'd cuddle right into your arms and cry when you tried to put her down. The next week, she was living in the house, a third cat. As it turns out, her crazed eyes are just a part of her (I call them Bette Davis eyes, as there's a definite resemblance) and her little meow sounds like she's been smoking for 40 years. Whenever she's being naughty (which is usually), I threaten to make a coat out of her shiny soft fur. Being my first female cat, and quite a tiny thing, I named her Little Girl.
Little Girl is a princess. She beats up on the boy cats - Gogo is quite pathetic, as he always falls on his back and lays there completely vulnerable without front claws - and she still eats the food off my plate when I'm not looking. But, Gogo has become my baby. He's a big softy who loves head butting me and getting endless ear rubs even when he doesn't deserve them. He follows me around everywhere and relies on me to protect him from getting too bloodied up my Little Girl. Only a year ago, I would have told you that I hate cats. Now I'll just say that I love my cats.
As Pete doesn't come around much (read: EVER), I only have photos of Little Girl & Gogo but darn, that's enough! I had a difficult time cutting any out as they're all so cute.
