And, The Cat Came Back...

It is time to make Spaghetti. The really cool and yummy kind from Kraft Dinners in the green box. But, I'm not eating alone this time: Theres a small black monster sitting in her seat at the table awaiting her cherished pasta.

A few months ago, I wrote about the wonderful time I had sharing my life with two kittens. And the missing part of that life when they were taken away. Well, one day, my friend Nikki called, and we talked about the rain, the park and other things. And, I had to ask about the little black kitten and if she's alright.

It seems she's bothering the family dog, and Nikki has to give her up. When she asked me if I'd like to keep her, I was shocked that i said yes defiantly, without even a thought. That's not usually me, I'm a morass of conflicting contradictions. Sometimes, I can't even choose a pencil if there's more than one.

When she came back home to me, she was tiny, and cute, and quiet, and well behaved. She was timid, but remembered me within the day. She was called Gigi, but never answered to it. I sat her down and we went through names with a soft "J" sound she might like better.

"Gigi? Jenny? Jackie? Jlo?"

She just tilted her furry head, and looked elsewhere for entertainment. That dust ball will do for now.

"eh, Josie...?"

And her head snapped back to me as she ran up and caressed my leg. She had chosen, and it figures she'd want to be named for a "Pussycat". What a nice pretty pretty kitty! So well behaved!

Lets jump to now, shall we?

That tiny fluffball with a wallflower attitude made it to her terrible teens. She's a big solid womanly cat with a loud persistant meow, and gigantic attitude. Loads of personality and ready to headbutt with me on everything. She runs about like she's late for everything and on crack. She only takes the time to look at me, knock something down off a shelf, then gives me a "whattcha gonna down about that?" stare. She rips up toilet paper rolls, and slides across the floor like a runaway train, making me wince when I hear DVDs and glass items crashing to the ground.

I now get instant parental headaches, and I wonder what I did to deserve such a fricken bratty feline. I treat her so well, and sometimes even spoiler her more than I really should. Most times I can't sleep because of her antics, and her nightly attempts to destroy. Why in the hell did I say "yes" all those months ago?!

I get my answer as I type this. A hear the soft padding of paws tromp up to me, and leap up upon my computer desk. She has a plushy jingle ball in her month and looks at me. I hold out my hand and she drops the ball into my palm. I guess it is play and fetch time. We do this for hours. She also brings me her leash, and I know it's time for walkies. This is stuff only dogs do, y'know. And when I come home, she greets me with loud purrs and a hunched leg rubbing. And I know when I fall asleep in my chair again, she'll crawl up and curl into a ball on my chest.

She's my little girl. Pain in the ass and all.

Such is a fathers folly. Maybe I should get her a new sibbling.

Ding! The spaghetti is done! She gets her small plate of simple noodles (her absolute favorite, beyond treats and catnip!), and we talk about her day...