Exactly one week and one day ago, I got a kitten from the Humane Society. This was the culmination of three months’ searching, waiting, and fretting. I remember the exact number of months only because my mom gave me a hot pink feather boa cat wand for my birthday–in April. So, yeah, I decided to get a cat a while ago, but only made it happen last week. That’s not the point of this story, though, so we’ll move on.
My entire childhood, I wanted a kitten. Unfortunately, my parents said no. Then they said no again. And again. They might have said it a fourth time, but by then I was starting to get the idea. Later, they switched tactics and tried to beguile me with a parakeet. Its name was Sunflower, and it died. Then I got another parakeet (Cirrus). It too died. Whether or not these deaths were my fault (autopsies were not performed, despite my requests), I didn’t get another pet after that. Not even a fish. I couldn’t take it. Two small graves in my backyard was plenty.
Time passed, my parents had my younger brother (who was not entirely unlike a pet), and I went to high school, then college. My first semester at George Washington University was made of crap. I was ridiculously homesick and my dorm room had concrete walls, for Pete’s sake. Then, the call came. My mom had adopted a ball of fur from the Humane Society.
I know you’re tempted to curse and throw things at my mom. Please don’t. I was upset, I admit it, but I eventually realized that she was trying to replace me. (Which, of course, could not be done.) I have magnanimously forgiven her. (Though it sometimes comes up before birthdays or Christmas.) Her name (the cat’s, not my mom’s) is Mrs. Norris. In the beginning, she was Hermione, but her personality required a name change. She is, quite possibly, the most disdainful cat alive–which is saying something.
In February, when I moved, I knew right away that I wanted a kitten of my own. I held off because I was getting settled in my new place, and because I wanted to be sure I could afford one. I get nervous about money, and I’m also a pessimist. I was pretty sure that if I got a kitten, I’d end up having to spend three million dollars having a bull’s head thorn extracted from its ear. Finally, though, I took the leap of faith and brought home the little bundle of joy I’ve named Clementine.
Clemmy (I chose “Clementine” for its numerous nicknaming possibilities), is sweet, teeny and kind of a pest. At first, she liked to sleep riiiiiiiiiiightnext to my head on my pillow. Now, she sleeps on the pillow (which is my favorite) and I use another one. I’m afraid of walking in my own house for fear I’ll trip on her. Getting into the bathroom without her is impossible, so she sits on the edge of the tub and watches while I take a shower. It’s kind of creepy. She walks on my keyboard when I’m trying to work on my blog or check my email, gets up to follow me even if it’s just to open a window, and likes to play when I like to go to sleep.
Which is all to say that I adore her. Having a kitten is more work than I thought it would be, but it has its own fuzzy rewards. I won’t lie to you–I’m looking forward to the time when I can go to the gym without worrying that she’s going to accidentally garrotte herself on my dental floss–but this time while Clemmy is just a baby? S’awesome.
Leave a Comment