A friend collected a kitten last week to give to her daughter for her 7th birthday. I agreed to look after the kitten this week while my friend was away. Unfortunately the daughter turned out to be allergic. And I have the kitten. And I turned 38 yesterday.
Fate bestowed a kitten upon me during the week of my near-40 birthday.
And the cat’s name? Slippers …. Simone and Slippers. An alliteration usually makes things better, but not in this case. Simone … Slippers … Spinster. I suppress an image of me in 20 years with a houseful of cats.
Slippers is named because of her white-feet. The same reason my nana’s cat was named Socks. Another reason to fear the symbol of the new kitten. And the alliteration.
My friend commented “Oh it is nice to come home to something”. No, it’s nice to not come home to something.
Whenever I’ve lived with people I’ve always walked up to my door at the end of the day with a feeling of dread. Knowing (or worse, not knowing) that someone’s inside. I loathe it. I turn the key praying they won’t be there, while I simultaneously try not to get my hopes up that I’ve got the place to myself. Fear and anticipation is too often met with plummeting disappointment and (irrational) anger when I hear the cheerful “Hello!!” from the person behind that door. Ugh.
Of course if they’re not home, I get a rush of euphoria and elation. “Woo hoo! No one’s here!!” But for how long? They’ll be back, but when?! I can’t enjoy my solitude with the knowledge that the door will open and at any time.
I like living by myself.
Slippers’ mother was a feral cat who was tragically killed in a motor vehicle accident. Slippers’ siblings were subsequently drowned. For reasons unknown to me, Slippers and her brother were granted a reprieve from a watery execution. And as they start out on the journey of life alone, I look out on the journey of middle-age equally alone.
Slippers doesn’t seem to have embraced solitary life as much as I have. She follows me from room-to-room. She sits on me when I sit down. And she lies on my neck when I try to sleep. In a nutshell, Slippers is very needy and has no idea of personal space.
I’m sorry Slippers that you’re the orphaned daughter of a feral cat. I’m also sorry that I’m a solitary singleton who struggles to co-habit. We’ll just have to give each other some space and see how we get along.
We stand a better chance if you stop trying to sleep on my face.