Sunday, March 05, 2006

2:30AM. Me and a bowl of broccoli and bags of wrinkles under my eyes. Fiance snoring in the bedroom. At least he was when I gave up on sleep two hours ago. This was cute! If you think kitties are adorable and amusing when being persnickety.
My little grey tabby, Sylvia, and I met six years ago. She was a kitty who'd grown up on the streets of Asbury Park and was picked up by a family run pet shop in Sea Girt. The day I met her was her third day off the streets. Her spay stitches were still fresh. Hers was the second cage I looked into- she let me snuggle her , I fell for her face, and two days later she came home.
It's difficult, literally, to remember our first months together.
The Sylvia I know now is the kittie who spent a week lying on the bed and staring at the floor the first time I went on vacation and left her (at home with my live-in boyfriend whom she knew well.) This is the kitty who leaves my side just long enough to nibble, drink, and litterbox any time I am sad, or sick, even if the sick lasts for days. The kitty who climbs on me for snuggles, keeping all her nails tucked in, even if she has to teeter on the side of my leg.
But in the beginning she would have none of snuggling. She'd climb up my leg for her food. If I got down to play with her she'd swat at my face claws extended. All this was okay.
I assumed she had never lived in a house with a human and that my getting down to play was to her an attack. If she hit my face I backed off and we tried again later. In baby steps we learned each other.

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