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My Best Mate is a Bossy, Furry Control Freak |
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Written by Maddi
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I have a cat named Winston who thinks it’s his sole responsibility to boss me around. He’s very good at it too. Of course, I had no clue that his personality would develop into that of a kind-hearted bully, but I admit that we’ve settled into a routine of him telling me what to do quite nicely. It all started when I accompanied my sister and niece to the animal shelter to get my niece a dog. Because I live in the city, and traveled often, I did not think it fair to get a dog myself. The poor thing would be left alone often and cramped in a tiny city apartment. I wandered over to look at the kittens. One of them, a tiny grey ball of fur with white tipped paws and a brush of white across the nose noticed me. Right away, he climbed to the top of his cage and, after three attempts of falling to the floor and shaking it off—looking adorable as ever—he made it to the top where I stooped to pet him through the bars. “Oh please let me hold this one!” I pleaded with the shelter employee. She opened the gate, scooped him up and handed him to me. Before I could fall in love he jumped out of my arms and darted about the floor looking for a way out. He tricked me! He wasn’t interested in me at all. He wanted to get out and be on his way. I ran around the shelter halls chasing this speedy ball of grey fur as my sister and niece looked on and laughed. The ruckus got the attention of the shelter employee who glared at me as she tried to help catch the kitten. She did, and promptly proceeded to put him back in his cage. No more petting and bonding for me. His spirit and energy moved me. I shocked her when I told her I would take him. I have to admit it was rough going for a while. As a kitten, Winston loved to scratch me until I bled, leaving long, red, scab marks on my arms, legs, and feet. He had a habit of licking the last slice of pizza if I left it unattended, and sneezing in my face if he felt ill. Pouncing on my head in the middle of the night as I slept was his way of getting back at me for not letting him outdoors or playing with him long enough. Nowadays, Winston and I have come to an agreement that I am allowed to coexist in his apartment as long as I don’t do anything to get on his nerves. Those things that bother him are very simple to remember. Don’t talk on the telephone longer than five or ten minutes without putting it down to tell him how handsome he is and scratching him on the forehead or nose. Brush him at least twice a day. Don’t forget to tell him I am working late or hanging out with friends and will be home later than normal. Put out fresh water. Let him get some air and sun in the front yard no matter what the vet said, or else. Don’t leave town without him. He too loves air travel. Don’t entertain unwanted company because he innately knows if someone doesn’t like me and it’s over for them. Don’t put him in his carrier to go on a road trip without gloves and the proper medication in him--sedation. Don’t get him a cat sitter he doesn’t know. Don’t step on his tail when he runs in front of you, cutting you off. Fall instead. He’ll kiss it and make it better while you lay there. And last but not least, don’t eat ANYTHING without first giving him a piece to sniff and approve. Adhering to these demands results in satisfying purring, warm social interaction, a helpful exterminator in Spring, and a natural and convenient foot warmer in the winter. Refusal to follow these simple requirements has proven detrimental to my health and well-being. I’m happy and safe as long as I remember. Otherwise, I bleed, find unwanted surprises in my favorite sweatshirt, get clawed in the back by a surprise attacker, am hissed at—which is very scary, or get slapped in the face when sleeping.
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Its so true about the animals in our lifes, my Diego is a street dog who adopted me. I tried to shoe him out of the house with my corn broom only to have him eat it burp and lay down. So I know what its like, heres to the pets who we just couldn't live without.