Too Cute to Ignore

Our kitty cat turned 14 last month. I have written about her on several occasions, over the past five years, about her frozen, near 'death' arrival, in 2003, her chronic illness and near death experiences. She has taught me many of the truisms of life. She is too cute to ignore, not that that has ever happened.

She captures my heart, time and time again. Our 'just a cat' is special to us. She was our first. I enter her room as 'room service' often does to check on things. She catches my gaze as she lies in her bed, atop the bunk, and nods with recognition and a meow of welcome. Everything gets refreshed, cleaned or replaced with a new cat-sized bowl. (I learned, during her death-defying period, that cats do not like their own saliva and like fresh water, often). (Dogs' standards seem 'different'). 

 

Tiggy saunters down the stairs to the main floor to check on things. Where are the dogs, she muses? Will the pup, Mr. Wiggles, jump and try to chase me or just look at me and wonder how I get to wander all over the universe, with no rules. (Her rules happen at night while she is sequestered in her room till morning.) As I enter her room in the a.m., I am greeted by a this cute little sphinx sitting atop the bunk bed, in her tiny pink fluffy bed, hoping for breakfast. She walks over to the opposite corner of the bed, nearest the door, waiting to be airlifted below.  It is like flying. She loves this. She goes limp. The 'pilot' has a license and knows what she is doing. Upon landing, Tiggy reaches for her morning meal and drink of water. It all tastes so good. Her attempts to visit other rooms to investigate are thwarted. All doors are closed. (She likes water from 'other' places, too). She visits the kitchen to remind me that it is meal time again. “I know,” I reply. “I'll hurry”. 

 

We all need reminders of our duty to our pets and children. Without their 'voices', they might get lost in the duty roster. The kettle boils. I mix the water with her special diet. I tell her to go upstairs where she has been dining, solo, for three years now, saving her unnecessary trips to the 'dining room'. The dry food bowl is fine, for now.

When she was dying, losing weight during a perilous time, two years ago, I was dying inside; my heart, in knots. How could that be? She is 'just a cat' I reminded myself. But, one day, in her weakened state, in a barely audible meow, she left her upstairs 'safe' room, suddenly. I could not find her. What if she died in her weakened state, unable to 'signal' for help because she could not move or cry out for help? But then I looked under the love seat and found her looking up at me with wonder in her eyes and puzzled at my reaction to her escape. 

 

In her room she is safe. Everything she needs is there in her personalized refuelling station. Yogurt was her tipping point, that year, a move that created a cascade of restorative health changes for our smart precious kitty cat. It was at that point, that her weight loss reversed and she began to 'grow' steadily to almost 9 pounds, four months later. I believe Tiggy is my tipping point, having demonstrated, so clearly, that she does things others could never imagine. Life just seems better with her in it. We have not seen the last of her miracles.

Tiggy has rocked my world and now she is content to wander the house, downstairs, looking for action or visit dad as he readies himself for yet another day. Where is 'Sally', Mr. Wiggles or is it Dr. Wiggles, now? The little 3-pound, 9 week-old abandoned kitten, left to die by the side of the road in temperatures hovering around -30 Celsius, made a statement that day and changed my life. She is an adorable, lovable, funny kid who enjoys my company as much as I enjoy hers. She loves her health giving, dry-brushing, that backward toward the heart combing, that destresses her, calms her adrenal glands and makes her cat throwing-up days almost redundant. 

 

She rubs against my back when I come to visit as I lie on the lower bunk bed to talk. She hears me and hopes the night-light will stay on longer for our chit-chat. Those talks are important to us. It is a soothing appreciation of our direct communication. Screen time has absolutely no meaning here.

She walks in front of me to tell me another story of woe: I need more food, my water bowl needs refreshing and where is the brush? I understand. The requests will be filled. I appreciate the reminders. After all, I need her, too. As night time falls, I check on her. It has been a long day. Food seems to be at the root of all of it. Such a human drive, too. I clean out her litter box. Lights out little one. You need sleep and I need a break. See you in the morning, you remarkable little kitty. Thanks for all the lessons.