Wednesday, March 22, 2006
I think everyone in the world needs a pet. Whether dog or cat, depending upon a person's tolerance of devotion and adoration, all people need the experience of complete, open, unconditional regard.
Let me take a minute to tell you about my Trinket. She and I did not bond too well at very first. At first my feelings for her were slightly polluted by my past crumpet-who soaked-up-all-my-excess-time-and-attention-and-squeals-of-she's-so-cute-look-at-the-kitty-show-me-the-kittyness (otherwise known as Gizmo), who wasn't shy about voicing and displaying her opinion that the new kitten should curl up, wither, and die.
But, now that that's all over, Trinket has become the delight of housewifely existence. She's not a graceful being by any stretch of the imagination, managing to disprove the theory that cats always land on their feet at every given opportunity, but all is forgiven when laughing at her spastic displays of playfulness when she joyously manages to find one of my ponytail holders on the floor, and also when I'm being clumsily "wooled to death" (as my oldest sister used to say about my crawling on and off and on her lap in effort to cuddle and find a comfy spot at once) when Trinket is in one of her moods of complete and utter love and adoration. It's just impossible to get mad at an adolescent cat who's wanting to love on you so much that you have to reach for her wreckless little fluffy body to keep her from tumbling to the ground. And reach for her to move her off the keyboard because she wants you to pay attention to her and not the computer. Her rattly purr that makes the walls vibrate when I pet her makes me melt.
And sometimes Gizmo still wants her to curl up and die.