I got him for my third birthday.
He was just a plain old rescue from the local shelter. He was pure white with grey ears. And as he aged, he was still an average old cat from the shelter- he didn't turn out to be this miraculous, mouse saving superhero. He was just my fat, lazy, old cat who sat at the foot of my bed.
He had a grey back and a black tail and ears. His front legs had faint stripes of grey and white in them. He had a big droopy belly that almost drug on the floor when he walked. He had piercing blue eyes and scars on both sides of his face from past fights he was in when he got locked outside by accident. (they were accidents I swear) Oh and he always looked mad. Like, always.
He was 11 years old and he sure was an old crank. He hated people in general and tried to bite my parents.
He would swat at my dogs and hiss at my brother.
But you know what?
I loved that cat.
I loved that cat more than anything I had ever loved before in my entire life.
And you know what else?
He loved me too.
That same old crank who would bite and hiss, would come up to my room every night and paw at my duvet. I would raise the covers and lift my legs and he would walk around in a circle two times before laying under my raised knees and falling asleep for the night.
Every single night for 11 years.
And when I would go on vacation for a week, I would be heart broken by the fourth day of not having to raise my knees at night. Of not having to wait for him to paw at my duvet. Of not hearing the quiet purrs to fall asleep to.
But,
When I got home, you could hear the crying of my cat. Not just a subtle meowing. It sort of sounded like a scream. Like he had lost something vital for life and he desperately needed it back.
I would run inside and just sit in the middle of my room. I wouldn't have to say anything. I'd just sit there on my brown shaggy rug and pretty soon the screeching would become louder and louder until he bounded into my room and ran around me and rubbed his face on me to mark me with his scent once again. The screeching would stop and the purrs would begin again as he would lay down on the foot of my bed to keep watch so I didn't leave again.
But eventually, like every living thing, he died.
The one thing that would love me when I felt like no one else did, vanished.
The comfort zone where I would run to and cry into when my parents were fighting, gone.
I didn't raise my duvet anymore. I didn't sleep with my knees up anymore. I felt alone and sad. I didn't have a comfort zone anymore.
I felt completely alone and unneeded really... Like could life really have a purpose?
and I know what you might be thinking--"Why is she making such a big deal about a cat?? IT'S JUST A CAT!"
But when you lose something that was extremely important to you, you lose a part of yourself that you never really get back. Do you know what I mean? I sure hope so...
Now back to what I said a little bit ago (about not having a comfort zone anymore). I really hope to have this blog as not just a comfort zone for me, but for all of you guys as well. I just feel as though nobody in my life really understands me for me. They "judge the book by its cover" if you will.
But now, since this blog is annonomous, there will be no judging what so ever. I don't know you and you don't know me so we will have to get to know eachother through our personalities and through our words.
Sooooo...
I'd LOVE to hear about your guys' experiences similar (or maybe not so similar) to this one! Comment something below! Maybe you need to get something off your chest or maybe you just want to tell us what you had for lunch- you do you.
---<3---
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