Oh the shit I do for cats.
The possible poster I could hang around my neighborhood further solidifying my deranged status when it comes to felines.
Little did I know what would be in store for yours truly when I found this vociferous feline outside of my mini manse one freezing evening this past January.
Loud and oh-so-proud.
With every intention of finding this fur ball a good home, I dubbed him New Cat to avoid the development of any feelings toward the little beast.
Fast forward six months and…
…two eye infections…
Pink eyed pussy.
…one ear ache accompanied by a cone…
Feeling the love.
…four vet visits in two months…
Really trying to avoid the cold, sterile vet table.
…one very embarrassing trip to Walgreens…
Music to my mother f’ing ears when I heard this name called over the loudspeaker at the pharmacy.
…and roughly $400 later this fur ball still resides under the same roof as His Royal Majesty Teddy and me.
While three’s often proven to be a crowd, the atmosphere in the mini manse is less tense and Ted, New Cat and I have been able to cohabitate pretty eventlessly.
Until last night when I was saying good-bye to a buddy that had stopped by and as I was shutting the door, I saw this pass by me –
Wait, was that a cat?
If you suspect that ball of flash was New Cat, making a run for the outside world he so desperately wanted rescued from a mere 180 days ago, you’d be spot on.
The welcoming woods outside my front door.
Aside from the fact that this little shit is as fast as a puma, it was haunted house dark outside, I had on my flip-flop house slippers and the brush adjacent to my place is currently as abundant as a royal’s monthly allowance.
The feline equivalent to the Where’s Waldo game.
As my buddy and I ran from one end of the tiny forest to the other, we could hear this cat wailing his pitiful meow while refusing to come anywhere near my reach. I was oh-so-cutely hollering, “NEW CAT! NEW CAT! Here kitty, kitty, kitty…Here Newie!” over and over again (I’m sure my neighbors did nothing but roll eyes and chalk it up to the crazy assed cat woman reputation I’ve secured for myself) and after about 10 minutes of playing the most unappreciated game of cat and mouse ever, NC crept up to my near hoarse voice.
Hanging out with cats has garnered me feline-like skills and I had a mama cat’s grip on the back of his neck so fast he couldn’t react. When I whisked him through the front door and breathed a slight sigh of relief, Mr. Tuxedo knew his ass was grass.
I’ll just be under here until you’re done seething.
Can’t see me, can you?
While New Cat was busy burying his head into linoleum, I poured myself a
bottle glass of wine and happened to catch my reflection in a nearby mirror. Why was the mole on my neck moving?
Oh, because it wasn’t a mole.
It was a fucking tick.
A tick that wouldn’t die.
Attempting to crawl out of the toilet for the third time.
After hosting a brief funeral for the blood sucking creature that did finally take its last breath, I stomped down the hall to lay into New Cat who crept further under his throw rug fort.
Blending in with surroundings fail.
As soon as I pointed my finger at his little face, he gave me the very best version of puppy dog eyes I’d ever seen on a cat and my fury instantly turned into mush.
While the shenanigans of a Monday night were winding down, Ted showed the utmost concern one could about a sibling vanishing into the night.
Adrift in anxiety.
New Cat laid low and kept quiet all night, he did come out of hiding as I was getting gussied up for work.
We’re cool, right?
And as I said my good-byes while traipsing out the door, I knew all was back to normal in the mini manse.
Here’s hoping the rest of the week is uneventful.