As a kid I liked cats. They were cute and cuddly. My dad was {is} a dog person and our dog at the time {Chip} was not a kid person. If we had a dog that acted more like Chance from “Homeward Bound” I’d probably have been partial to dogs.
But Chip wasn’t Chance. He never saved me from a muddy well. Instead he growled every time I tried to touch him and gave me rope burn around my ankles from winding me up in his leash. {I still have the scars to prove it.}
I’m getting off topic. Back to cats. I liked cats. I wasn’t obsessed, but soon people started getting me cat things. Book ends, stuffed animals, books, you name it. Then suddenly when relatives were wondering what Amy would like for a gift they just looked around my room…got the idea I was totally into cats…and added another item to the collection. {This tends to happen with some things…like light houses, John Deere paraphernalia, and angels…I call it contagious collecting.}
I don’t know when it happened–maybe after I took down my cat posters {that I chose from the book fair at school}–maybe after having three barn cats of my own all die within a year of my ownership {to this day I call that the cat-curse}–but the whole cat thing settled down. Chip mellowed out once I was about 14 and I liked dogs again. After my experiences with cats getting hit on the road or dying of weird causes I decided dogs were more durable.
And I stayed a dog person for a long while.
Which is why it’s so strange that I’m now head over heels for this cat that I’ve named Panda. You know her. She’s made appearances here on the blog before. And if you have been reading a while you remember her antics from Shreveport. {If you didn’t read those…not sweat, just follow the links below.}
To refresh your memory, there was the day I took her to the vet and she pooped right in the front seat of the car. The time she peed in Derek’s dad’s lap…or maybe the time she pooped in her car carrier then laid in it and needed a bath. She really hates the car. And her hatred comes out in the form of poop. {But sometimes pee.}
When I got home the other day I noticed that Panda’s left eye looked funny. Her pupil was dilated and didn’t react to light. The next day her iris looked red and irritated. Worried that the cat curse was upon me again I called the vet. He saw us today. He rocks.
Panda was great on the 6 minute trip to the vet. She was a gem while she got her yearly vaccines and allowed the doctor to prod at her little eyeball. Then, 30 minutes later I got in the car to head for home. No sooner than I’d shut my door and “Killing Kennedy” on audio book had cued up…I smelled it.
“Oh please let that be a fart.” This was my deepest hope. Let’s be honest…nothing in the world smells worse than cat poop. Nothing. Oh, wait…except cat poop embedded in cat fur that you have to touch with your hands.
Once we got home I hauled the carrier up to the bathroom where I discovered things were as I suspected. I had a poopy Panda on my hands. Not to mention an angry Panda once the bathing experience started. I got wet. She got wet and mad. The bathroom got wet and smelly. Just another day in paradise.
Is there a morale to this story? No, not really. Other than to marvel at how funny out love for our pets can be. I’ve cleaned up poop and given a cat a bath more times than I’d like to count over the last year…all for a cat that was a beggar-stray 18 months ago. For the next two weeks I’ll pin her down {probably get scratched} and put eye drops in her cat eyes twice a day. How do they do that? How can they be so darn loveable without even trying?
I may never figure it out. And if I do I hope it doesn’t require another round of cat carrier poo patrol.
Amy
