No man is an island

 

Cats are thought of as solitary animals. From time to time I tend to agree. Dogs are pack animals, so are elephants – well, actually a group of elephant are a parade or a herd, either way, when it comes to cats, no one can really agree. Enough about that, let me get to the meat of the matter. For a very long time, I was an only cat. It was just my person and I. Sometimes there would be roommates, occasionally those roommates had animals, I liked them just fine-ish (remind me to tell you about the teacup Chihuahua) but at the end of the day, it was just her and I. Until a few years ago.

It was when the weather gets colder and my person and I had already been living with her man-person for a handful of years. One day, my person’s friend, curly haired lady, came over with a big pink box. The pink box (gasp) meowed. Inside was Cleo, maybe 12 weeks old, and let me tell you, I was not happy. But, after a couple of days, and an hour being locked in the bathroom with the 4 of us, I began to enjoy her company. It was the first time in a long time I ran up and down the halls and played and shared my food, it was a wonderful decorated living room tree time. But then, something happened.

Curly haired lady came back, she frequently visits so I didn’t think much of it, but when she left – I couldn’t find Cleo. At first I figured she was in a new hiding place, as cats we find them all the time but she never came out. I looked and looked, nothing. At one time, I thought she needed coaxing to come out of her hiding place so when my person was at work and her man-person was home, I took all the toys Cleo played with and brought them into the hall and yelled as loud as I could over and over, she never came out. She was gone.

The story, obviously, has a happy ending. Curly haired lady brought Cleo back. I still don’t know why she had to go, maybe it was to get the rest of her things or something. We’ve been all together ever since. I always thought I enjoyed being an only cat only to have my opinion be changed. Unbeknownst to her, Cleo has taught me a lot , mainly she taught me that not all outside people that knock on the door will harm me, which is good. Cleo is a bit skittish around curly haired people, but I keep trying to remind her, no one is going to take you away again. 

Alas, poor Sabastian! I knew him, Horatio

 

I’m not really a ‘play’ type of creature. I do play. I will chase Cleo up and down the halls, attack her when she’s sleeping, give in to the string on the stick, but in general I do not play.

 Cleo plays, Mon Dieu, she plays. She goes to the point of doing parkour down the halls (it’s quite impressive, she can jump almost 6 feet). She even has a toy box that she gets into when she feels the need – she hasn’t quite gotten the hang of putting them away and it just clutters the place. I think it’s nice that she is so active.

I’ve only had one toy that I truly enjoyed and that was my flat mouse. Secretly I named him Sebastian, I like to say it was after Sebastian Cabot the Italian explorer and navigator but it was Sebastian from Little Mermaid. Sebastian was simply made, just a piece of suede in the shape of a mouse. Maybe some whiskers, maybe some eyes, that wasn’t important. I would play with him for hours, even now, if I knew where he was I would chase after him, stop, smell him and then just sits there. Happy times.

As all good things do, this one too, came to an end. By the time I lost Sebastian he was full of rips and bite marks and was as hard as cardboard. Perhaps he decomposed under the couch, who’s to know? I do know I loved that flat mouse.

 “Thinking of you where ever you are- We pray for our sorrows to end and hope that our hearts will blend…” – Shiro Amano

I’m not picky, I’m particular

 I don’t believe it’s wrong to want what you like enough to wait for it to appear. I think if you settle for second best, you always ponder how wonderful it would be if only you had what you really want. And doesn’t that short-change your life, in the long run, when you settle? Let me clarify, I’m not saying that if you have a crush on George Clooney you should wait for him, instead of dating the nice man from accounting. If you’re waiting for George Clooney to ask you to marry him, you’re delusional, plain and simple. Even if you’re dating George Clooney, he won’t ask you to marry him.

I just like things a certain way. For example, I do enjoy being brushed, but only on the bathroom counter, only after my person has taken a bath and only with her man-person’s hair brush, I don’t like it any other way. I like basking in a sunbeam, but only in a specific bedroom. I like the expensive cat food, but only in chicken (I loathe fish). I will snack on the tidbits of food that have fallen to the floor, but I will not eat the exact same thing if you try to hand it to me. I will only lie on my person’s lap and I don’t like strangers. It’s very simple, it’s just specific.

I’m a true proponent for trying new things, new things are wonderful until I throw them up.  And then occasionally I will need to be reminded that I don’t like something when I’m sticking my nose in it. That why I keep my person around, she makes sure I don’t ‘retry’ a new thing.  

If people wonder why I’m difficult, I’m not. It’s their perception and their opinion. I can’t take that from them.  

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.*

 

One might think, because I am so attractive that I can’t see beyond my own beauty and find another attractive. Alas, that is not the case. I was once in love, if you can call it that. We never dated or spoke much, I never knew his true feelings, but I knew mine.

He was an all white Canaan dog. Strong and silent, never caught his name. Occasionally he would come over into the space I lived in and I would rub against his legs. He really didn’t know how to take it and I didn’t care.

By the way, you read that right – dog, he was a dog. I don’t feel the need to explain myself and I was surprised as to my reaction to this dog when I met him. Open your mind and don’t judge.

Anyway, the Canaan dog moved away, or that’s what I tell myself. Just one day he was gone, no explanation, no note, just gone. I didn’t cry because, to be honest I didn’t realize he hadn’t come by in a long long time, until it was a long, long time – by then I didn’t care. So don’t cry for me, I’m fine. 

*Quote from Kahlil Gibran

The Sophie Loren Of Cats

Hello,


My name is Stella, and I am a very attractive cat. I am 11 years old and for as long as I can remember, I have been an attractive cat.


I live with my person and her man-person. There is another cat here, her name is Cleo and she's not as attractive as I am. She is a very cute cat, but not beautiful per se. It's like comparing Sophie Loren to Shirley Jones, both are appealing, but very different 'attractive' wise (and if you don't know who these actresses are, look them up on IMdB). I'm the Sophie Loren of cats. Chances are high I will post a picture or two of Cleo, I enjoy her company and she keeps me fit by chasing me around the house. 


Anyway, I thought I should get my face out there, I don't want to deprive the public of such attractiveness.


Included is a picture of myself and Cleo. Yes, she's upside down and a little daft at times.