Ron's cat

Ron woke me up one night.   Groggy, all I heard was "Cat" and "broken leg".  I jumped out of bed.  "What?  Bubba?" 

No, Ron told me, he heard another cat outside, crying.  Could I find it and see if it needed help?  It was 3 AM.  Of course. 

I found a small brown spotted tabby hiding in the bushes.  I did not want a kitten.  The last one had toilet issues and peed everywhere.  Kittens were a lot more work than Bubba, who only required food, water, and petting. 

From the start, I didn't want her.  She was cute, I could see that, but I put up walls.  Ron insisted we feed her.  When I came home with the bag of kitten food, I felt doomed. 

Bubba happily ate his fill of kitten food and seemed to take a kindly interest in the kitten, who loved to attack him.  He was very good natured about it; but I used to get so angry when I'd see him with fresh bite marks in his ear. 

I felt like Ron was sacrificing my cat, in favor of his.  I refused to let her in the house, citing the toilet issues with the other kitten (whom we sent to the shelter - she was a stray).  However, our water district was doing loud and dangerous work on the sewers. 

I "had" to bring her in, I couldn't have lived with myself if she'd been hurt or ran off.  She settled in nicely, using the litter boxes I provided and only them.  She loved to sleep on Ron, and tried to sleep with me. 

However, I roll around a lot and I'd squash her.  She'd let out a horrible squeak and then leave.  I felt awful; but I couldn't change.  She gave up on me. 

I told Ron he had to fix her, and we did.  She recovered quickly. 

My meds weren't right, and when I got manic I'd get grabby with her, picking her up and holding her until she wiggled for release.  I was not her favorite person. 

I didn't mind, I had Bubba, who slept with me every night.  Until he died. 

The night he died, Ron went on a bender and fed Baby Girl endless amounts of cat treats, as he mourned Bubba.  During a lull, she climbed into my bed and curled up against me, purring. 

I found that very sweet, and found myself letting down my walls.  Ron came by with the bag of treats, and she ran off, but I've always remembered that. 

She knew I "had a sad" and wanted to comfort me.  She also probably wanted comfort herself, Bubba was her friend. 

We got Torbie, and Baby Girl didn't like her at first.  It took a good week to get them in the same room without hissing.  We did that. 

I've discovered that Baby Girl is a high-energy cat, and needs a lot of stimulation.  She's learned to come to me when she wants to play, and I oblige in some way. 

I have one of those Cat's Meow toys, she will bat at it and meow for me to turn it on.  Then she'll play with it for a while and wander off.  She has teaser wands, balls, you name it.  Ron hangs a lanyard off his long white cane and waves that around - and that's probably the most popular toy. 

Bubba got in my lap once, in 10 years.  Frosty was in my lap constantly.  Torbie likes to get on me or near me, but not so much my lap these days.  She likes to get on my (or Ron's) chest as we lie in bed.  That's fine.  I'm just glad she's cuddly. 

Baby Girl has always been cuddly with Ron; but not me.  I understood.  I was kind of grabby back in the day.  I never really bonded. 

We do relate, though.  When I eat I always show her my food, and she smells it.  If I have something like a pudding, yogurt, or dairy item, I put a little dab on a plate for her. 

Tonight she made history.  I was sitting in my chair, eating some applesauce.  She got in my lap, investigated, and got down again.  And I "let" her. 

I wonder what the future holds for us.