After failed ownership of a dog and a shrimp farm (oh God, the smell..) as a child, I convinced my parents to let me get a cat. I was 14 years old and swore up and down that I would clean out her litter box. So my mom took me to the SPCA where we found Kitty. She was in a cage with several other tiny kittens. Kitty was the cutest of the group and also the loner – she was the only one smart enough to not be sleeping inside her litter box where the other kittens had huddled up. I held her and my mom and I decided that she was the one.
That was nearly 16 years ago. On August 1 we celebrate Kitty’s birthday. And her crazy behavior that makes us love her so much. She’s a talker. She has a stuffed animal tiger she carries around and cries with when Kosta or I leave the house. Lately, she’s taken to sleeping on our neighbor’s back steps during the day. She loves hunting crickets (she’s working on sniffing them to death). She is the defender of our yard and routinely chases down other cats, skunks and possums. She wakes Kosta up in the morning a few minutes before his alarm goes off by tapping him on his cheek and nose with her paw. She greets us at the door when we come home and follows us around like a puppy dog. She’s 16 but “she’s just a baby”. A sentiment that makes my mother-in-law laugh and proclaim with a thick Greek accent, “Not a baby! I want a REALLY baby!”
Happy Birthday, Kitty! We love you. (Even Ya-Ya loves you.)