"I promise I'll take him with me to school. Mom please."
"What if you can't get an apartment that takes cats, Jenna, I don't know. I just don't think so."
"She'll find an apartment."This from her father, who believes her every wish should be granted. I DID NOT WANT A CAT. I hadn't wanted a cat in two years, though they tried often to persuade me. I had HAD a cat. THE only cat in the world worth having. My loving sweet Leon. Who I had killed.
It was innocent enough, just thought we saw a flea, and I spread on the FLEA and TICK liquid, but it was deadly stuff, and he went into convulsions two hours later.
The Vet said to wash it off, He should be okay. But he wasn't, after two more calls to the Vet, 11:30 at night, we had piled into the Van, and was driving 50 miles to the nearest OPEN Veterinary clinic.
I held him wrapped up in a blanket and willed him to stop shaking. I spoke soothing words to him, told him how much I loved him. He was only 6, pure white, with one spot of grey on his head. The bluest eyes ever. He was mine. He wasn't our first cat, we had about five,not counting all the kittens that came along we had given away and two different dogs in our married life. But those had been the kids pets, or in the case of the dogs, my husbands. But that had been at the farm house. Now we lived in town, pet free.
I found him at a Veterinary Clinic. I had stopped in thinking I would check for a breeder of Labs for my husband. As I stepped up to the counter he came to me. Someone had dropped him off, they had moved or some such thing. He was so sweet the ladies at the Clinic had let him roam. He curled up against my arm, and I took him home. I forgot all about the Lab.
They said his name was Peanut but I called him Leon. And he was mine. He wasn't the typical cat, already two and neutered. He was calm, he was sweet. He would fall at your feet, turn over on his back and wait to be rubbed. He would crawl in my lap and he watched TV with me. His head bobbing with the people on the TV set. He would follow in my steps in the morning while I made my coffee.
He slept above my head on my pillow, and woke me with his soft paw patting my nose. He wasn't afraid of people. He would wait in the big picture window until he saw me come home. He was my
buddy.
And I killed him.
By the time we got to the Vet's they said it was too late, he'd never be able to fully recover. What did I want to do? I looked at my husband and he nodded. They left us alone with him. I whispered how sorry I was and kissed the top of his head. They took him away and then brought us a box. We took him home and buried him in the back yard. And I tried very hard not to constantly cry, but I missed him.
I know it was an accident. Logically I know that. I didn't kill my cat. That awful company with the terrible flea and tick drops did, thankfully the stuff is off the shelves now. But still...
And now, NO i did not want another cat.
"It'll be mine, I will take care of it I promise. Just mine."
"Good cause it won't be mine." But the battle was lost and her dad and she brought him home the next
night. A tiny ball of fur, a half breed Siamese of all things,brown and tan but with the bluest eyes ever.
He annoys the heck out of me.
Always under my feet. He doesn't stop there, he claws me and then attaches himself to my foot trying to make it a chew toy. He hides behind the door and jumps out with his back hunched, like he is going to eat me up. "You are not an attack dog!" But then he would attack, and run. Then back again. I try not to smile at the crazy thing.
He lies on the top steps to the basement and grabs hold of my feet while I am trying to walk down.
"He's wants to kill me Jenna."
She calls him Buddy. I call him Psycho.
He won't leave me alone, he constantly follows my steps in the morning as I make my coffee. He waits in the Big Picture window and watches when I come home.
Leon's purr was soft. Psycho sounds like a chain saw in your ear. I have to push him away from me constantly just to hear the TV while he tries to crawl into my lap and bob his head up and down watching the TV people.
He's a little bigger now, I can see him before he attacks me, a little calmer since he was neutered.
The other morning I woke up and he was lying on my pillow above my head. "What are you doing Psycho?" Was his paw raised, getting ready to pat me on the nose?
He's not my cat, I don't want another cat, but maybe if she can't find an apartment that takes cats, maybe he'll have to just stay here with me.
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