My GirlThis is quite possibly my favorite picture ever taken of my cat. I don't ordinarily blog about my pussy, but I've just awakened from the most horrible nightmare, starring Precious, and decided to blog it out of my system. It was cute to wake my Mother with a bad dream at 4 am, but not now that I'm 28. Somehow a year makes a difference, I did it just last summer for the same reason, similar dream.
You see, I got Precious when I was 9. I turn 29 in about 2 months. Because she is mine, I gave her my birthday as her own. That was pretty generous for a 9 year old. Plus it meant a double birthday party every year. So basically, Precious is a 20 year old cat. And the best one. I can say that because she lives with my Mom in New York-and she gets to "clean up" after her. Apparently geriatric pets tend to make little messes. Ah well. Such is the burden from the good fortune of having a cat for 20 years.
In my dream, my Mother called me to "break the news", more over to tell me that she had already taken Precious to the vet, lest me talk her out of it, and that Precious had to be put to sleep because she had cancer! I cried in my dream, and forced myself awake-only to leave me lying awake on the bed.
Precious was my latch key pet. After the divorce, my Mom went back to school and took a job. This meant getting off the bus by myself-so we got Precious.
Precious essentially became my furry little sister. She killed my brothers hermit crabs. I liked that. She has 8 toes on each paw, it looks like she wears winter mittens all year.
Then when I was 12, I told Precious that I liked boys. She never told, or even laughed at me.
When I moved to college she cried. When I moved to Chicago, she sat on the boxes, and didn't want to move. I have the most awful photograph of her sitting on the boxes with her head down- her boy was leaving. And I did. I've been gone now for almost 7 years. I think she's still mad.
When I call home she sqalks her old Granny meow out so I can hear that she's there. When I went home recently to visit, she remembered me, and fell down to play like she was a kitten (the cat collapse we call it now)...my Mom was shocked and said she hadn't done that in years.
As Holly Golightly would say "Poor Old Cat" - but at 20, she's still got her 4 pointy teeth, lives on canned cat food and can have a dairy treat of cream once in a while. She gets chewy treats for being good while my Mom is out now. I miss that poor old cat.
I don't want that phone call.
moral of this blog: I picked out her name when I was 9. How gay was I?