Thursday, February 24, 2011

The Old Lady of the House...


The old lady in our house may not embody the images conjured by your mind when you think old lady... there are no housecoats, hearing aids, or false teeth. More like hair balls, litter box, and purrs with pets.

My ex-husband, who was really only my boyfriend at the time, brought this precious thing home from his gig waiting tables late one evening many moons ago. One of the waitresses brought a box up to the restaurant full of tiny little kitties, and he picked one out for me. Just a few months earlier, we had laid to rest my beloved Boo-Boo, the cat that had been in my family since I was two and had made it through all our moves around the southeast. It was a tragic event, the loss of Boo-Boo, but he was so terribly old and completely failing. However, I will never forget the day; I had to write out the check to the vet for my father whose who has always had the most tender attachment to all our pets and whose fingers just wouldn't work to do the deed.

Back to the point, though...

Dip-wad ex-husband (who was still in relatively ooey, gooey boyfriend status at this point in the game) brings home said precious kitty. We named her Millie after the White House dog (Original President Bush). She was tiny and playful and fun, but she was a talker. She made her presence known in the house and was quite loud despite her wee frame. That was in 1996...

Millie has been with me through so much. Sounds so crazy, I know, but I have told things to Millie, she's seen me cry, she's purred and rubbed her little chin on me when I needed it most. And now she's old as dirt. God bless her little kitty heart, she has reached the point where she doesn't want to jump on the bed anymore. Seems like just a few years ago I discovered that her normal food place atop the covered litter box would no longer do as she refused to attempt to jump anymore. But she could still jump on the bed. Now, every morning, she sits at the foot of the bed and fusses in her loudest meow until someone in the family comes in and lifts her to the warm snuggly softness of the crumpled sheets. There are days that I wait until late in the afternoon to make up the bed, and then there are days that I make it up around her, just pulling up what I can and tidying it as much as possible without disturbing her.

I will never forget the day we brought David home from the hospital. Scott carried him in in the little infant carrier and sat it atop the kitchen island for us to get him out. She took off, and I can't say that I saw her for two whole days. But once she realized that baby was not there to eat her food or sniff her catnip, she took her signature location behind my head on the couch cushion as I sat feeding him his bottle. And that's when her love affair with David began. She fell in love with him gradually, an emotion that has her running to rub her kitty chin on his leg any time he comes home now. She greets him most mornings, flops over on her side offering her belly for a little stroke, and he's still the only one that she allows to touch her there.

Her most infamous sign of undying affection is the nibble of the nose. At night, she usually comes to find Scott and I after the kids have gone to bed and rests behind our heads on the top of the couch cushion. I can turn my head to her and talk to her in my sweet voice (much different from my normal voice, trust me), and if I put my nose up to her face, she gives my nose a little nibble with her teeth. This has been something only she and I have shared through the years until sometime in 2010 when she decided Scott was in the circle of trust and she broke the seal with him. We were both so impressed when she finally nibbled Scott's nose; he'd been offering it to her for years, and I wished I understood what the kitty rationale was behind finally thinking it okay after 2,578 of Scott's attempts.

So, the old lady is getting older. And I am now apparently writing entire blog posts about a cat...

2 comments:

Chelle said...

Hey, I wrote SEVERAL posts about my cat. They're family, like our children only less high maintenance. Well, MOSTLY.

Erika said...

Oh, I love my cats so much more than the dog. When Princess lays by my head and licks me, I like to think she thinks of me as hers to take care of. It's nice to have someone to take care of you, even if it is your cat.