Decades drip away
Still I'm searching for purpose
What's my bailiwick?
blue skies and beauty
breathe deeply the sanguine summer air
and close your eyes as you feel the heat
of the sun
on your skin,
gently masticated by your own light and beauty.
give credence to yes
In honor of International Hug Your Cat Day, I’d like to wax poetic a bit about the fur kids with whom I share my life.
Mini Biggles is a 13-year-old red tabby who I met as a one-month-old little kitten. He fit in the palm of my hand and, upon first holding him, he crawled up under my hair and nestled in at the nape of my neck. I’ve been smitten with that kitten ever since.
Through the years, we’ve moved a couple times and we had to say goodbye to Mini’s big brother, Biggles. Mini was so lonely. I’d hear him meowing from behind the door as soon as I got home from work and he would proceed to follow me around like a puppy.
That’s when I found Teddy. Another red boy, he was already a year old when I saw him sitting ever-so-quietly in a cage at a shelter. I pulled him out and held him and he seemed right at home in my arms.
Mini and Teddy became fast friends…once Mini established his alpha male status, which took about 10 minutes.
The three of us have now lived together for six years. The amount of fur they shed is astronomical. I’ve got weapons such as a vacuum, lint roller, brush, packing tape, and Static Guard in my arsenal, but I just can’t keep up. I’ve accepted the omnipresence of cat hair. There’s just no escaping it.
I’ve accepted the fact that the second I finish cleaning their litter box, one of them will immediately go in there and stake their claim by taking a huge, stinky cat dump.
I’ve accepted that at least one of them will puke on a daily basis. I just do my best to keep it off my bed and my shoes. Everywhere else is fair game. Although it does amaze me that if they’re on the line of the floor and the carpet, they’ll always hit the carpet.
I’ve accepted that it’s my job to pick out eye boogies. It’s my job to clean dirty butt holes. It’s my job to wipe Mini’s nose when he sneezes and great amounts of chartreuse snot shoots out of his tiny, little nostrils.
I refrain from throwing Teddy off the bed when he meows in my face at 6 a.m., which, by the way, is a solid 90 minutes before I actually have to wake up. I try not to yell at either of them when they knead me with their sharp claws or climb on my laptop while I’m trying to use it. I spray water at Mini when he scratches at my closet door in the middle of the night, but I always follow it with an apology.
I don’t mind any of these things because…well, I DO mind them, but the bottom line is…they love me unconditionally. They’re always happy to see me when I get home. They greet me with meows and head rubs against my leg. They jump into my lap and settle down for a night of purring and petting when I’m lonely. They’re excited to see my eyes open when I finally wake up in the morning. We have routines. They’re predictable. They're also unpredictable. They make me laugh. They make my smile. They make me happy.
I love them and they love me and I can’t think of anything better than that. They might struggle against it, but I’m going to hug the heck out of them today.