The Cat Thing

Once a long time ago I had a cat. She died. I never got over it. She died suddenly, within a few days. She was a little sweet calico that looked like a pile of dirty rags. Her name was Olivia, which became Livy but morphed into Merpie because of the way she would make merp sounds when she talked to me.

Three weeks ago, on a Friday while running in the Parque Ecologico Kabah I heard a mew. Then another. I rounded the corner and found a tiny little calico kitten. She rushed to me. I couldn't find a reason for her to be there in the middle of the park by herself. I heard no other kittens mewing, and there was no mama around. I scooped her up and brought her home where she purred her way through a bowl of kibble. I installed her in my office with food, water and a litterbox (away from my other cats), then I went back to the park to finish my run.

My husband came back that night from a trip and started with "we can't keep her" (we have 3 other gatos living IN the house and more strays that we feed). So I've avoided getting attached, well, I've tried. But she's so friendly. She's the kind of cat that gives cats a good reputation. She's all love and adoration. She's a ball of love. She's a permanent furry hug. She's lying in front of the monitor right now listening to my typing and to Eddie Vedder croning "Strangest Tribe".

So two days ago we dragged the poor missy off to the vet (along with a neighborhood stray) to get spayed. What a nasty business, getting all opened up and chopped up inside. No babies for you my love. Somehow knowing that a cat or dog will never reproduce makes it's life seem more precious to me. This is it, no second chance, no baby to take it's place, no chaos of family, just this life, just this hungry little kitten who purrs her way through every meal. Grateful for everything I give her, even with her belly in stitches.