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I spent most of my life not afraid of death, an angsty little side effect of suicidality. But right now, as I lay here holding my crusty geriatric cat, I’m glaring at my doorway ready to throw hands with any scythe-wielding figure that dares to cross the threshold.
My cat has been coughing more this week, has eaten less, and has slept in his bed without crawling in mine for a few nights. I had a nightmare of not being able to find him last night… I feel death looking at my cat. But I am my cats favorite person, so between me and death? He’d choose my lap every time. I’m convinced he has been making that choice ever since I found him, with all his rotten little teeth and saggy old-man skin. I don’t think he’d have survived another winter as a stray, but here we are, six years later. He’s older than dirt, a living piece of taxidermy, and truly the most loving creature in existence. He’s always a bit sickly… his allergies result in many areas of my house being decorated in kitty snot. Little abstract murals of green always a foot off the ground. He’s been through episodes like this before- with the eating and coughing, but he seems to always bounce back to his usual state of half-alive. As if he springboards off deaths face to get to me…
I know I’m being funny, but I’m really scared of the day that he chooses deaths lap over mine. I’ve never had to put a pet to sleep, and I have never loved a little creature as much as I love him and as much as he loves me… I wish I’d had him all his life- I feel robbed of time. Wherever death takes him, I hope I go there too, and I hope there is an eternity to make up for all the years that I did not get to sleep next to this crusty, snotty, perfect little creature. For now, though, I’ll keep watch and covet every little purr, face nuzzle, and demanded cuddle from my wrinkly relic of a cat.
it's a simple life, being a cat. you lie around all day in cozy spots, you pad about and watch the birds through the window. your humans feed you and let you warm yourself in their lap, and you don't have to do anything except... be around. be cute, be comforting, be charming simply by existing.
cats aren't really smart enough to get bored, not when there's a toy mouse to be thrown around every so often and birds to watch outside. so they sit, and they watch, and they sleep, and they just exist.
My cat is missing. Some people will say "well it's just a cat" but when you have lived in 3 states in 5 years. Had several friends come and go. Survived really bad depression. Survived a drug problem. Survived an abusive father and a shaming mother. All with that cat by your side. Greeting you every time you came home. ... Well then it's not just a cat
Right now my cat is sleeping beside me, curled around from my back to my hip. He's looking at me with slightly opened green eyes, a startling lovely shade of green. He's just looking up at me with that catty smile of his. He makes me feel so comfortable and content with my life. He keeps me company, returns to the house when he knows I need him there. Sometimes i think he's followed me through my lives as a companion in various forms. Ever since I first got him he's been so understanding, so receptive and strangely connected to me.
Must sound silly.
Someone so connected to their cat that they're sure they'd had them forever. But that's how I feel. I want to take him with me when I go to school but I can't. When I get an apartment I think I may. But we'll have to see... I love him and he loves me. He doesn't respond well with most people and no one as well as with me.
I have had this cat for years and he's my comfy little companion who once-upon-a-time would ride around on my shoulder. He'd just sit there while I was doing dishes and watch me work busily away, that cat-like grin adorning his adorable little face as he touched his nose to my cheek. When he was bored, he'd jump down and meander off. But he'd always come back, he'd always want back up on my shoulder for a free ride-around the house before we curled up on the couche for a nap. Then, he'd curl up in the crook of my shoulder where it meets my neck. I'd listen to him purr, the only sound he ever made, as he drifted along with me to dream land. While I was reading, he'd chew on my books and I'd swat at him, but I never wanted to hurt him. I love him. He's the one constant in my homelife. My wonderful little kitty cat.
I have a cat. I love this cat. And he loves me. At least I think he does I'm not sure he even knows what love is. I mean in the sense that if lost he would miss me or if separated for a long period of time he'd miss me. I wonder what that’s like to be unattached and not feel or care or be incapable of feeling past that one moment when we are together and not think about it after its gone.