Today, we have been together for five years, but I can't remember or imagine my life without you in it.
Five years ago, I drove an hour into Santa Fe because I was too picky to adopt any of the cats in my town. Before I'd even stepped into the cat room at PetSmart, I saw your little pink nose and you had my heart. I pretended I was going to look around at all the cats, but I knew you were mine.
|Celebrating his roots with a catnip cactus and pepper!|
You have never been the easy pet I thought I was getting by adopting a cat. I'm not sure what your life before was like--I assume you came from the streets since you've always eaten like you never know when you'll get your next meal, and your ear is missing a few little chunks and our vet says it looks like someone must have just barely nipped your ear. For months, every time I pet you, you'd stop and bathe yourself like you were trying to wash away my love.
It didn't matter. I loved you anyway.
We hadn't been together long when I woke up at 5 a.m. to you vomiting and saw blood. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, even though you still wouldn't let me snuggle with you. I put you on the foot of the bed and slept with my hand on your side to feel you breathing until the vet's office opened and I could call them. It was the first time you didn't seem to mind my touch.
The volunteer from the Santa Fe Animal Shelter and Humane Society who came in to complete our adoption told me that you'd be happy to sleep in my lap all day. You are not. But that's ok. I love the way you curl up next to me on the couch as close as you can possibly get without touching me. I love the way you grab my hand with your paws--without your claws--and pull my hand to the spot you actually want me to pet. I love the way you reenact The Matrix as you flip off the wall to pounce on hair ties.
|I like to think he's saying, "Wow! That's a hot pepper!" Really I caught him mid-yawn--it's hard to celebrate before breakfast.|