Good morning friends!
My cat (who is in stealth mode in the above picture) is currently tearing about our home (which sadly means she is also tearing up our carpet each time she reaches both the top and bottom of our stairs.)
If I wasn’t so madly in love with her, there would be repercussions.
When she gets into these scamp moods of hers we like to say that she’s “riding her little horse” because of the way she gallops about the house (and the way her gait sounds like that of a young steed racing around a track.)
We adopted Ms. Nymeria from the SPCA a little over four years ago.
I had been badgering M forever to let us get a cat.
Being a remarkably patient, and loving man, he withstood this constant bombardment quite well (and with much grace at that.)
Because seriously, anytime he inquired about gifts, I would immediately, without thinking, blurt out: “A CAT.”
Hey Ethel, he’d say. What do you want for Christmas this year?
A CAT, I’d respond.
Hey Ethel, what would you like for your birthday this year?
A CAH! I’d say, not bothering to swallow that bite of my sandwich before taking the time to respond.
Hey Ethel, what do we need to pick up at the grocery store tonight?
A CAT! I’d answer. And milk, bread and cheese. But mostly though, a cat.
(That joke was always a laugh and a half for me, but obnoxious as heck for him. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.)
Come February 2008, M ever so nonchalantly asked me to come over to his computer. He picked me up, sat me in his lap, and together we looking through the pictures of the kittens that were currently available for adoption over at our local SPCA shelter.
Now, I don’t know about you folks, but there is a very limited time frame in which I can stay on one of those websites and remain a functioning, coherent human being.
Just looking at all the little ones that need homes thrusts me into sensory overload, and I become overwhelmed between two very conflicting reactions.
These are: MUST SAVE ALL THE KITTIES – and – OH NO THERE ARE TOO MANY KITTIES TO SAVE I AM POWERLESS IN THIS FIGHT.
It’s like all of my life force swells to epic proportions but is simultaneously sucked out of me. Like I turn into a superhero just before being administered a Dementor’s kiss.
Luckily, it wasn’t before long that we saw Nymeria’s picture and we both fell head over heels in love.
At the time she wasn’t Nymeria. She was Faye, who – “didn’t play well with others.”
We knew immediately that she had a touch of both Rhoyne and direwolf inside her.
The next day we went to the shelter, and along with the help of two stellar friends of ours, adopted the little Miss into our arms, heart and home.
And she’s been there ever since. Snuggling, purring, meowing (she talks, like, all the darn time), furring up furniture, ripping up carpets, going absolutely bat shit crazy when she sees other cats, sleeping on my feet, and sailing 1,000 ships to Dorne (just like her namesake of course.)
I always joke that Nymeria is my daughter – and while there is a healthy dose of both tongue and cheek in this statement – she is a dear, dear part of my family.
She was with us during our engagement, our marriage, both of our post-grads; she forgave us for going to England without her (that one took a while, let me assure you).
She is with us when we wake up, and when we sleep.
And I love her. (Even if at the moment she is scoping out my lemon bar.)
So what about you dear readers? Who are the furry friends in your life?
Nymeria and I would love to know.