Post by Raven on Nov 19, 2012 22:55:53 GMT -5
People often ask why I love my cat so much. My answer is always, "She is my everything." The fact is, there is one type of thing that people love the most in this world. Those things are alive, the particular ones who depend on the person in question. There are few cases of parents who do not love their children unconditionally. There are many people who adore their pets, and one reason is that the animals depend so entirely on you for life. This shows a basic human need, the need people have to feel significant. You provide everything to your children and animals, to them, you are very significant. Animals, at least, show their affection. It makes sense to be very attached to them. I know how easy it is to fall in love with small, furry things, especially when they depend on you. I fell very hard, when we got a kitten.
I was always an animal person, but it had been from a distance. We’d had a dog once, named Desserex, but she lived at my grandmother’s house. I saw her once a week, for only a few years. It was impossible to have any real attachment to her. My grandmother had also had cats, but I saw them even less, due to the fact that they were outdoor cats, and rarely there. That changed, starting when my mother’s best friend’s cat had a litter of kittens. We visited them a few times, but I was thoroughly surprised when, on my birthday, my mom brought me to her closet. My heart was beating with excitement, wondering what she had gotten me. I wasn’t disappointed. It was the best present I ever got, when I got my kitten. She was pure white, with blue eyes. Next to her was her tiny orange brother. They were barely old enough to leave their mother. Their mews were tiny and high-pitched. I loved them already, knowing they were really mine.
After a time, the boy of the pair ran away. Other cats came and went, and Mama Kitty, the little white kitten, was the only constant. One winter, between having a black cat named Shadow and a grey-and-white one called Irie, Mama Kitty was the only furry little being currently living in my home. My family had been going through a rough time, and my mother had to pay the power bill late. That night was torture. Even with three blankets, I was freezing. Mama Kitty soon joined me, her small body providing the extra heat I needed. I pulled my whole body under the blankets. Before long, my hands and face stopped stinging. We spent every night after that cuddled up together, keeping each other warm.
Years later, when I was in ninth grade, Mama Kitty was about nine years old. I was already barely getting by when two of my best friends moved out of state. It was the low point of my life, and I sunk into a deep, suicidal depression. I didn't tell anyone, since I worried they would treat me differently just because I was emotional. I never wanted that. It was probably the worst decision I've ever made. I fought my way through this, crying whenever I was alone. I wrote poetry and was never really happy. It took me three months to even tell one of my friends, and only then when I was on the brink of killing myself. I called her, sobbing, and she asked if everything was okay. It was a dumb question, but it made me feel a little better. She gave me a number for a suicide hotline, and reminded me that I could always call her as well. "Nothing is okay," I told her as the call came to a close. My cat nosed her way into my arms and began to purr, as though telling me, 'but everything will get better'. Her soft fur pressed against my hands and arms, and her rough, sandpaper tongue licked the tears from my face.I can't tell you how many time she has done this for me, but I know that it always makes me feel better, as only my kitty can.
Mama Kitty isn't an uncommon name, but if love this strong is common, I don't know how true love can exist. My cat is kind and loyal, and she has been there for me through all my darkest days. I have someone very important to take care of here, and if it weren't for that, I don't know that I would still be here. Even if she hasn't dragged me from any fires, my cat has certainly saved my life at least once.
I was always an animal person, but it had been from a distance. We’d had a dog once, named Desserex, but she lived at my grandmother’s house. I saw her once a week, for only a few years. It was impossible to have any real attachment to her. My grandmother had also had cats, but I saw them even less, due to the fact that they were outdoor cats, and rarely there. That changed, starting when my mother’s best friend’s cat had a litter of kittens. We visited them a few times, but I was thoroughly surprised when, on my birthday, my mom brought me to her closet. My heart was beating with excitement, wondering what she had gotten me. I wasn’t disappointed. It was the best present I ever got, when I got my kitten. She was pure white, with blue eyes. Next to her was her tiny orange brother. They were barely old enough to leave their mother. Their mews were tiny and high-pitched. I loved them already, knowing they were really mine.
After a time, the boy of the pair ran away. Other cats came and went, and Mama Kitty, the little white kitten, was the only constant. One winter, between having a black cat named Shadow and a grey-and-white one called Irie, Mama Kitty was the only furry little being currently living in my home. My family had been going through a rough time, and my mother had to pay the power bill late. That night was torture. Even with three blankets, I was freezing. Mama Kitty soon joined me, her small body providing the extra heat I needed. I pulled my whole body under the blankets. Before long, my hands and face stopped stinging. We spent every night after that cuddled up together, keeping each other warm.
Years later, when I was in ninth grade, Mama Kitty was about nine years old. I was already barely getting by when two of my best friends moved out of state. It was the low point of my life, and I sunk into a deep, suicidal depression. I didn't tell anyone, since I worried they would treat me differently just because I was emotional. I never wanted that. It was probably the worst decision I've ever made. I fought my way through this, crying whenever I was alone. I wrote poetry and was never really happy. It took me three months to even tell one of my friends, and only then when I was on the brink of killing myself. I called her, sobbing, and she asked if everything was okay. It was a dumb question, but it made me feel a little better. She gave me a number for a suicide hotline, and reminded me that I could always call her as well. "Nothing is okay," I told her as the call came to a close. My cat nosed her way into my arms and began to purr, as though telling me, 'but everything will get better'. Her soft fur pressed against my hands and arms, and her rough, sandpaper tongue licked the tears from my face.I can't tell you how many time she has done this for me, but I know that it always makes me feel better, as only my kitty can.
Mama Kitty isn't an uncommon name, but if love this strong is common, I don't know how true love can exist. My cat is kind and loyal, and she has been there for me through all my darkest days. I have someone very important to take care of here, and if it weren't for that, I don't know that I would still be here. Even if she hasn't dragged me from any fires, my cat has certainly saved my life at least once.