I Would Like to Eat my Cat
Once upon a time, I went to my sister Sabrina’s house and saw a framed picture of her cat on the refrigerator. I thought this was endlessly funny and teased her mercilessly. Who takes a picture of their cat? And then, who would actually put it on the fridge? It’s just a cat, not a friend or a baby!
Now I must eat my words. Although I don’t have a picture of Cat on the fridge, I’ve taken at least 10 photos. I’ve posted one on my other blog (sort of an online version of the refrigerator photo gallery). I torture my coworkers almost daily with “cute cat stories.” I think about her constantly. I want to buy her everything in the kitty toy section at the store. I AM IN LOVE WITH MY CAT!
I never thought this would happen to me. I’ve always been an anti-cat person. We had a cat growing up, but she was not cuddly or very cute. In fact, I lived in terror of the nights my mother would bring her in and set her on my bed. If I moved any part of my body beneath the blankets, the cat would attack it with claws and teeth. Later, we got a dog and she stole my heart. I kicked the cat to the curb and decided that I must be a dog person.
When we moved into our house, I wanted a cuddly pet – the fish just wasn’t doing it for me. I considered a dog or a bunny or a kitten, but, in the end, an adult cat sounded like the least work and potential destruction. Mike and I got Cleo (a.k.a Cat) from one of his professors. I didn’t love her at first; I felt rather detached. In fact, when we thought she had run away, after having her for only a few days, I was sad only because I felt irresponsible. Now, she is a part of the family.
If you read Suburban Bliss, you know that Melissa often speaks of swallowing her children whole. I’d like to swallow my cat.