We have a really weird cat. Her name is Avatar and she was a four month old stray that scared the shit out of Audrey right before we got married. Audge was going out to do laundry in the laundry room of our apartment complex and she came back in scared. I asked her what was wrong. She said a possum just chased her back up the steps. Now we did have possums in the complex, which as weird enough for Park Labrea, but I had never heard of one chasing someone up steps before. When I opened the door to check, a little starving white four month old kitten greeted me, meowing. Obviously the first thing I said was “Does that look like a possum to you?”
“…Well, it did in the dark,” my wife replied.
We kept the cat and it was most grateful. She would greet us at the door, sleep in bed with us, and stay on our laps when we watched television. She was our baby.
But then of course we had actual babies. And sadly, pets don’t quite get the attention that they are used to when a child or two comes along. Now our cat was cool about it and never showed anything more than disinterest for either child. And still doesn’t, really, even though Bella is almost four. As if she made up her mind to ignore our children until they leave for college. Her choice.
But every once in a while the cat lets me know it’s not cool. Like last night. Instead of sleeping at the foot of the bed, she snuggled right up into the crook of my arm and then when I turned over I felt her lie down and lean against my back. She was telling me, “I know these little people seemed to suddenly appear and get all the attention, but don’t forget who was here first. If you do, I may just “forget” where my litter box is. Consider this your only notice.”
So we try to give the cat a little more attention. But we’re just so freaking tired. She understands. Okay, no she doesn’t. But she should. She sleeps fourteen hours a day, for Pete’s sake. She’s tired and all she does is stretch, purr, and give us periodic guilt-inducing looks.