It’s been four years since my mother and I rescued a wee little stray kitty (and four years since I began living with my mother, post Acadia University). Oh those economic and romantic opportunities, they are a just rolling in. But I digress.
If you want the story behind Jack, visit my old post “A stray named Jack” and feel free to oooh and awww at your leisure.
Jack still has bad memories of his “before” life, I think, but I can now walk over him without him cowering as if I’m going to kick him. He’s still a bit nervous when the broom or vacuum cleaner comes out, but he doesn’t run away and hide, and will even remain calm if you talk to him while the vacuum cleaner roars away.
He sometimes gets earaches (or something of that sort) and begins biting at my hand as if I’m the source of his pain. I have more than a few scars, including two on my wrist that look like I tried to cut my wrists at some point.
But overall, Jack is a faithful kitty.
When I’m typing on the computer, drinking my coffee in the morning, he’s there. I usually have to type one-handed because he’s on the other arm.
If I’m watching TV, he’s either on me or curled up at my feet, purring, kneading, dozing.
A few minutes after I go to bed, he’s usually hopping up by my feet, then curling into my legs for the night. (And heaven forbid I go to bed late! He won’t let me read late at night because he’ll hop up and get in the way of my book.)
If I sleep in too long, he hops up by my face and starts swatting at my face and chewing my arm. It’s not that he needs food; it’s that he needs company and he has been denied it too many hours.
A video representation of my mornings: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0ffwDYo00Q
When I fold laundry, he’s there, “helping” or as I call it “hindering.” He offers more moral support than actual help. Sometimes he even passes out over the clothes.
As you can tell, he lives in the lap of luxury. His glass pitcher of water always contains ice cubes. Last Christmas, he got a water fountain that keeps the water fresh and oxygenated; it’s his backup for when the ice cubes melt.
Often, he has three kinds of food at his disposal. Usually there’s two kinds of dry food along with a dish of wet food (he’s developed an affinity for Tiki Cat). Tiki Cat is made with WHOLE ingredients. If I ever become so poor I have to eat cat food, I’m buying this kind. It seriously looks that good.
We had to get him off the Nip, though. He gets a bad trip off it. Sunday I bought a calming tea at the Superstore and didn’t realize it contained catnip along with lavender and passionflower. I hoped I would be able to drink it without him trying to get his fix like a junkie. However, his pupils dilated and he began meowing frantically, so I had to throw it out. The tea is now in a bag. In the freezer. So he can’t get to it. I’m quite disappointed because the tea was tasty and would be a great relaxing potion before bed (passionflower has been shown to be as anxiety-relieving as the benzodiazepines, at least according to one study; a small study, but a real scientific one nevertheless).
I’m not sure where time has gone. I think it’s partying somewhere with my youth. They’re having grasshoppers and martinis.
But I do know that Jack has been a great part of the last four years.
Happy anniversary, Jack.