Today we adopted a second cat from the Humane Society and while it is adorable and sweet (mostly) I’m feeling a little disconnected. Who doesn’t love a kitten? If I am having trouble connecting to what is arguably the cutest creature on the planet, does that mean there is something wrong with me? As a woman who exists on emotion, connecting deeply to friends and family, how can I not be a bad person if I don’t know 100% that I am going to love this little sucker? Let’s review the facts.
Six months ago my first cat died in my arms. Jeremy was 15 and I’d had him since he was about a month old. I got Sylvia two years later and for 13 years it was Jeremy and Sylvia, not exactly friends, but accommodating of one another. So now I have this new one and though she is super sweet, she growls at Sylvia and Mama (me) ain’t having that. You do not come into the big cat’s house and make her feel unwelcome when you’ve been in town 12 hours. I don’t have kids I have cats, so yes I’m a little overprotective. I know it has only been a day and I want to be pro-animal and let them work it out and pledge to love the new kitten, etc., but I’m really just waiting for her to screw up so I can boot her ass. That’s bad, right?
I’m sure these are growing pains. After all, Jeremy peed all over every place I’ve ever lived, my beds, my leather boots, roommates beds, clean laundry, rugs, and anything else that was between him and the litter box. Still, I kept him for 15 years and loved him more than I could have possibly loved a stupid kid. (okay, that’s probably not true, but what do I care, I don’t have any of those little people running around.) Currently, Coconut (the nom du jour) is sleeping sweetly in Sylvia’s bed and not growling or scratching the hell out of me. Oh yes, I forgot the scratching. Coconut needed a bath. I know it probably was not the wisest decision given that she was already ill at ease, but that cat smelled of twenty other cats’ urine and feces so I went forward. There was bloodshed, not all of it mine. Jeff also got cut up. Then there was the peeing on the rug. Apparently, the four-month old dislikes the litter boxes available to her. Awesome.
None of this is really the point, however, because my bonding issues go deeper. I want to love her, I want to give her equal footing with Sylvia since she is now a member of the family, but I’m not feeling it. I’ve fallen for people quicker than this and people are really annoying because they have their own opinions and feel the need to talk to me even when I’m grumpy, etc. Coconut is tiny and cute, but if she growls at my Fatgirl (Sylvia) one more time I’m locking her in the utility room until she’s big enough for Sylvia to legitimately kick her ass.
It’s now clear to me that I’m a crazy cat lady. I’ve written over 500 words on my cats. Though I promise you, if your hands were still stinging and bleeding and your favorite pj pants smelled like kitten poop you’d be a little fixated too. I want her to love me and she seems unsure, so until she comes around I’m holding a grudge. I may not be tiny and cute, but I'm lovable dammit! Bite me Coconut, you ungrateful shelter cat!
No comments:
Post a Comment