The Cat Lady

Well, we made it through a whole week of the new school year...almost.  We had a snow day on Friday which was much welcomed by me; I felt terrible (and still don't feel well) and I slept in much later than I EVER do.  I took advantage of the extra day to get some of my grad school work done.  My throat hurts, my glands are a little swollen, and my body is fatigued and achy, but I really don't like the thought of a $50.00 co-pay to go to urgent care.  Yay for the new insurance! Not.  My triathlon training is not going so well because of this sickness and an aggravated tendon in my foot that has been on and off since October.  It's hard not to get frustrated right now.  I don't have access to a pool, even though there is a nice one at work, so I don't even know when I will get to start training for the swim portion.  With my foot acting up, I can't force myself to run or even do anything high impact (like P90X plyometrics).  All I really have right now is the indoor trainer for my bike, so my quads are on major overload!  Anyway, I'm just praying this week for strength, energy, and healing.

On a different note, I feel the need to talk about cats and dogs.  To begin with, before going to bed last night, I watched two episodes of Animal Hoarders.  If you haven't seen that show, you'd be horrified to see how some people live with so many animals.  Christopher and I have two cats and two dogs.  Now, the dogs are really my step-dogs; I inherited them when I married Christopher.  There truly is that feeling of them being my "step-dogs"; neither one of the dogs is a dog I would have chosen myself.  In fact, my whole life I have longed to have a golden retriever and had been planning on getting one when I got my own place.  Then Christopher and I fell in love, and, well, that's that.  No golden retriever for me until Lexi and Kiya are no longer with us, and that's ok.  Lexi and Kiya stay outside; we purposely bought our house with a large, flat backyard for them to roam around in.  My dad and Christopher also built a beautiful 6-foot-fence all the way around the yard so that Miss Jump-Over-Anything-In-Order-To-Escape-Kiya would be secure.  Lexi and Kiya are ok, but even Christopher has admitted that he would trade both of them for the dog of his childhood, Tara.  I didn't have a dog growing up, but I have always loved them.  I can name several dogs over the years that I didn't care for very much, and Lexi and Kiya aren't my favorite, but there is no doubt that dogs are possibly the best companions to have ever walked the planet.

Kiya in the snow.

Lexi with her big bone on Christmas morning.

 

Christopher with the mutts; summer 2009.

Except for cats, that is.  I had a love and fascination for cats since I can remember.  Pictures of a 7-year-old Shelley wearing a cat nightgown (The cats are on the front reading the "Caterbury Tails") are proof that I was even willing to wear cat clothing.  A birthday cake with a Lisa Frank cat design comes to mind as well.  My family got Oreo for me when I was only 7.  Oreo was a regular ol' black and white tabby.  Extremely lazy and easy-going, Oreo was an indoor-outdoor cat.  He typically went to bed with me, then woke me up around 3:00 am to go outside, not to be let in again until the next morning.  Oreo was likeable because he was friendly, never meowed, and would gladly curl up on my (or my dad's) lap.  He didn't jump up on counters and he didn't wreck the Christmas tree.  He was content just to be alive.  In my later years of college, Oreo began to lose weight and was very sick.  In hindsight, I let him live far too long after he became so weak; it was in September of 2007, when I was 22-years-old, that my mom, Christopher, and I scooped him up and took him to the vet.  I will spare the details of what it was like in that room.  I was very much aware that my sobs and tears weren't only of grief for the loss of my pet, but for the loss of my childhood that he represented as well.  Fifteen years is a long time, especially when those fifteen years include me progressing from a child, to an adolescent, to a teenager, and to a young woman.  The doctors wrapped him up for me, and I let my tears fall on the little bundle in my lap in the car ride home. He is buried in my parents' backyard.

Oreo.

Before I go on, I must note that it always surprised me how many people hate cats.  I am blessed to have families (on both sides) who love cats and a husband who loves them too.  Yes, I've met several cats I don't like.  There are some that are mean, irritable, and cause nothing but grief.  But aren't there dogs out there that fit that description as well?  Sure there are!  I find that people who don't like cats are people who have never really been exposed to them, and therefore don't understand them.

Just weeks after Christopher and I got married and moved in together, we got Fitz and Rhea.  It was kind of an accident.  Christopher had made the deal with me that since I was having to postpone my dream of having a golden retriever, he would buy me the cat of my choice.  I had already mentioned that I would like an orange cat.  On a typical day of running errends, we decided to take a stroll through PetSmart, just to browse.  And it just happened.  The Washington County Animal Shelter had several cats up for adoption, and we immediately spotted a tiny, orange and white tabby.  We asked to hold him, and when his kennel was opened, another unusual-looking kitty scurried out as well.  This kitty looked half-calico and half-gray tortoise shell, with what looked like a fiery flame on her face.  We held both kitties in our laps, just 10-weeks-old, and the lady mentioned to us that we would get a discount for buying two kitties and not just one.  These kitties were brother and sister; how could we resist?  So, without food, litter boxes, or any other necessities, we held the kitties and drove them home.  A year and a half later, Fitz and Rhea have become family.  Yes, they picked apart our leather furniture until they were old enough to be declawed.  Yes, they climb up in the Christmas tree and send needles and ornaments everywhere.  Yes, we have a house full of cat hair.  But they make me so happy.  Fitz is laid-back, lazy, and cuddly.  Rhea is spunky, smart, and full of affection and personality.  She is as smart as most dogs I know; I am not kidding. 



I guess I felt compelled to write this tonight because of something that happened in the early hours of the morning.  I woke up at some point in the night on my back with Rhea nestled on my chest, purring loudly, and Fitz curled up against my side.  They were warm, soft, and peaceful.  I placed a hand on each of them and just reveled in how happy I was.  Then I almost laughed outloud.  Here I was, curled up in bed next to my husband, surrounded by my cats, thinking about how such simple things bring so much happiness.  I am sure the happiness that a mother feels when she holds her child surpasses this, but seeing as I'm not hoping to have a child in the human form anytime soon, I am taking advantage of the affection I feel for my animals. 

I hope to be here on Earth, 40+years from now, rocking on the front porch with Christopher, golden retriever at my feet, and a cat in each of our laps.  It may not fit the stereotype exactly, but if teenagers living down the street want to call me The Cat Lady, I will be ok with that.

Fitz and Rhea the day after we adopted them.

Little Fitz.

    

Little Rhea.

Big Fitz.

Big Rhea.

And lots of love.