The Great Cat-scapades

Adventures with a cat is never boring.

For reference, I’ve never been a cat person. Before you start raising your claws and engaging in a battle of cats v. dogs, read the whole way through this post. I have both a cat and a dog. Get over it.

In fairness, I was never raised with cats nor by a cat-person. My mom liked them okay when they didn’t torture her allergies. But my dad believed the worst part about kittens was they turned into cats and that cats really just belonged in other peoples’ homes.

Cats also never really worked that hard to make me like them either. They always acted sort of like that anti-social person in middle school who preferred sitting by themselves and wearing black and making other people feel hated by them. I know, because I used to try to sit with those people. I was just trying to be nice, trying to get to know someone new, another perspective or point of view, I suppose. Besides, it’s not like I had many friends then anyways. But I guess I might as well have had a death wish because my smile and preppy clothes were not welcome. Usually they’d do their best to make me cry as they scared me away too.

That’s how I always felt about cats. If they weren’t biting my bare toes til they bled they were usually waiting til I pet them to bite. Mostly I noticed, their purrs were only a precursor to a hissing bite.

I tried for years to make my peace with cats, and finally I gave up.

I guess that’s when cats decided to like me, because suddenly, unintentionally, I was playing hard to get. They wore me down slowly, like sand over rocks. Now they can just walk all over me like I’m a beach or something.

Now I find myself marrying a man who came with a cat.

To be fair, the cat is hardly really a cat. He’s a giant, 20lb maine coon mix that’s bigger than a lot of dogs I see. He licks my hand, loves to snuggle and lets me hold him upside down and rub his belly. He likes sitting on the porch with me and eating regularly and with gusto.

Well played, cat. Well played.

The other day, the cat introduced me to a funny joke – wanna hear?

What do you get when you add together a 20lb cat escape artist and a doctor-mandated order for me not to lift more than 10lbs?

The answer is a heart-stopping moment, a limping cat and me crawling around on the ground outside like an idiot as I try to convince (because heaven forbid anyone dare TELL a cat to do anything) the cat why it should go back into the house and not just continue down the front driveway without front claws or a collar.

Oh wait, that wasn’t a joke, sorry. That was an actual thing that happened because my cat decided to be a cat. Good thing my hands were full of groceries at the moment of his escape. And my dog was hopping all around just in case there was nothing else to trip over.

Not to worry, though. I just tripped over the cat instead. Or wait, did I say trip? Tripping would have been kinder, but instead I step-tripped, right onto his little front paw. Feeling guilty yet? I know I sure am. His yelps and limp may have slowed him down long enough for me to send the groceries flying and try to pounce, but I could’ve done just fine without all the drama.

Eventually, in the most awkward, uncomfortable, and worrisome ways possible, I managed to wrangle the cat back inside. His limp quickly disapparated after a quick pet and a treat, and you’ll all be glad to know no lasting cat-harm has been done.

And I’m quite sure, in about 1.5 years, the cat will forgive me, right? After all, the one thing cats are known for is their quick adaptation to change and forgiveness, yes?

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