A Little Cat

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

The story of a little ginger ninja

His little body crept up the blanket and plopped down in front of me, I smiled and snuggled up to him, running my fingers through his thick orange fur and sighing happily. Then when I wanted to continue reading, I carefully moved my left hand, not to disturb him. When I picked up the book he looked up inquisitively and sniffed the paper out of curiosity, as if he was wondering if he could eat it. He was always interested in what I was doing, always watching me moving papers around, or following me to the bathroom, or kitchen. I always imagined him being very confused, he would have no idea what books were, or pans or plastic, and somehow his peppy and playful curiosity always lifted my mood. He coiled about the house, staring at me, making the hairs rise on my neck; when I would turn around in amusement and speak to him, he would either stare at me or mew at me as if he was asking a question. Of course I couldn't answer his question, so instead I would give him a polite 'hey buddy' and scratch his soft little head as he looked at me with big curious eyes. He's my best friend, someone who is by my side night and day, at night he lays on the little blanket I gave to him on top of the bed pillow. When he wants cuddles sometimes he sleeps on my shoulder, his arm stretched out over my cheek and his paw almost poking me in the eye, like he's cuddling my face. Sometimes I'm afraid of how much I love him, as I'm aware his life span is shorter than mine, and either he will live to see me have children or he will die and a piece of me will go missing.
 
When I had left home, ripely 18, I had taken him on an hour trip with me to our new home. I took him with me because my mother was losing her house and had to give our dog a new home. My parents were getting a divorce and my step-dad had seemingly momentarily turned into a monster, having me worry about my little cat's safety. When we first came to this house, he was scared of everything that moved. He had stayed under the bed for so long I was afraid he would never come out. After a while he would only come out when everyone was in bed, and then he would eat. Eventually he got used to it though, and now every time he comes in and I cuddle him his fur smells like soil or wood fire, sometimes burnt meat, and I wonder where he's been. There's a large stretch of land, he must go exploring it every night because he always comes back damp and muddy and so I have to brush his fur, fix his wounds or wipe the mud off his paws. I could never take away his freedom, he is a wild cat, more than most somehow. Yet when I take him to the vet they smile and compliment him for being well behaved. He and I have a trust between us, and so when I take him somewhere new he doesn't struggle scratch or bite. When I first put a collar on him he hated it, every night when he would come back he had somehow chewed through the collar and so I had to buy him another one. We came to a compromise, I would take off the bell and he would keep the collar on so that people wouldn't think he was a stray and now he keeps his collars on.
 
He's very sweet and kind, even when people annoy him and want to pat him. He doesn't growl or bite, he just lets them pat him and looks around for an exit. He greets people, and they ask what breed he is, I tell them I'm not sure, because I've never seen a cat with a longer tail. It coils around and tickles his nose and when your laying in bed you will see the tip of his tail as he walks around the room, my mum and I joke about it a lot.
 
We have been alone, just me and him, for four years. In my disorder I struggle to socialize, to go about daily business the way others do, but he has always been there when I've come home from a hard day. He has seen me at my lowest and he has seen me grow into the woman I am today. He was with me through my late teenage years, he's been a kind of friend that you could never forget, the kind that has stolen a place in your heart that you couldn't ever replace.


Submitted: May 24, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Flambe. All rights reserved.

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88 fingers

Very good story. This cat could be the best friend you ever have.

Sun, May 24th, 2020 8:34pm

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