Cat

He came into my life as a tiny, 2-month-old refuge baby, brought home in a cardboard box by my ex. The very, very best birthday present I could ever have wished for (and it's never been bettered). He miaowed, asserted his personality, staked his claim to my life, my heart.

He grew (boy, did he grow!), from a big-eared freako-kitten (though always unbelievably cute) to a truly handsome elder statescat. He is indeed stately (not to say portly), but he can still be playful, for whole minutes at a time if the rolled up ball of tin foil is shiny enough, if the patissier's ribbon is wavy enough.

He likes to sleep on my bed, now that there's no competition. He curls up, sometimes at my feet (sometimes, less comfortably, ON my feet), sometimes in the small of my back, sometimes right up near my pillow. I don't care that this probably skeeves out half of humanity. Me, I love it. He makes me feel less alone.

He also likes to sleep on C's bed, basking in the sunshine my bed never gets (it could, I suppose, but I'd have to open the shutters for that, and I don't remember the last time I opened my shutters). Sleeping there isn't allowed, and he knows it (C's Dr Asthma-Allergy told us so - wants us to get rid of him altogether, in fact, but they'll have to carry me out in a box before that'll happen), but he's a Rebel Cat, so he disobeys.

He likes to eat. Really, he loves to eat. Not just anything, though. He likes tinned tuna, sliced ham, white chicken breast, Yop and once went totally crazy over pain d'épices (not really gingerbread, but sort of that type of thing). He does not like fresh tuna or actual steak. He rarely gets the foods he likes because they're not the best thing for his health, but a cat can dream, right?

His fur is silky smooth (except when it isn't), long, with a fluffy smell. He has three colours: white, black and brown. He is the most beautiful cat in the entire world, even though I may be a little biased. He loves to watch sport on TV (anything with lots of movement - unlike anyone else in this house, he loves cycling (watching it, I mean, not doing it obviously) and he used to show an appreciation for Jimi Hendrix. He seems to have outgrown that now (possibly because I never listen to Jimi Hendrix; he seems ambivalent to Glee and Leonard Cohen).

He owns this building - pads from floor to floor, making sure his minions know he's keeping his eye on them. He protects and serves, a fearless guard-cat (OK, OK, I may be exaggerating a little here), ever ready to pounce on any unsuspecting lizards or suicidal crickets.

He's more than "just a cat". So much more. He's my raison d'être, he's my stability. He's the one who has always, always been there for me when I need him (helped greatly by the fact that he never, never goes anywhere). He understands my moods, my feelings, my pain. He knows when to come to me.

He is a cat. My cat. The cat. The archetypal cat. Or just "Cat".

His name is Tom, and he is a prince among cats, a king among cats, the King of all Cats.

(This) woman's best friend

I went to bed late last night (hardly a scoop, I know) and was up horribly early this morning. I had to teach 6 hours of classes in the course of the day, then come home, check e-mail, make a couple of phone calls, that kind of stuff and then head back out at 4.45 to pick up the girls from school. Then it was a seemingly endless game of "Mille bornes" (for once, we all played together and, after a very slow start I managed to come in second, after C. Yeah!), supervising C's homework, preparing the girls' stuff for tomorrow, dinner, story, bedtime routine, bla, bla, bla.

Halfway through dinner, D went out to a conference so, once the girls were in bed, I was on my own. I had work to do (still do, as a matter of fact) but was sooooo tired that I lay down on the sofa and slept for over an hour and a half.

The sleep was much needed, and much appreciated. But what I appreciated even more was when my beautiful cat, Tom, came and curled up next to me, his large, furry body filling me with warmth. He feels so nice, so soft and cuddly; he smells so warm and furry (yes, furry is a smell, and a damn nice one at that), he's so unbelievably affectionate, sensitive, intelligent (OK, and greedy too, but we all need at least one failing, right?). I can't imagine life without him...

Seriously, people: is there anything on earth better than a cat? Or, more specifically, better than my cat?!

Some kind of blissful

No, I haven't found inner peace*, but I'm sitting here, at my monumentally cluttered desk, and it's not yet ridiculous o'clock in the morning** and I'm slowly typing one-handed because Tom is on my knees***, purring contentedly and smelling deliciously fluffy****. I still have a shitload of stuff to do*****, but sitting here with Tom, with the house so quiet and calm, really is some kind of blissful... Cats should be prescribed as medication for the terminally stressed.



* though we had printanière for dinner, so I guess I do have some inner peas...
** though beware of the "yet"
*** only just - he's what you would call a big cat
**** if you have a cat, you'll know the smell; if you don't I guess you'll just think I'm weird...
***** not helped by the fact that D didn't wake me up at 10 am as I asked him to in a note he says he read, but left me to wake up naturally at 2 pm (I know, even I'm kind of ashamed of this one) meaning I didn't get my translation finished till 4.30 (instead of 12.30 as I'd calculated), in turn meaning I didn't have time to go into town and send my last Christmas cards and do some Christmas shopping. All I had time to do was have a shower, get dressed and go get the girls from school. I was pretty mad, I have to admit, even if the long sleep undoubtedly did me good.

Scared

I know this is going to sound totally crazy, but I'm scared out of my mind.

Tomorrow morning, D has to take our beautiful cat, Tom, to the vet's. He (Tom, not the vet) is going to be given a general anaesthetic and have his teeth and gums "dealt with". I'm not sure exactly what the problem with his teeth and gums is, but apparently they're causing him pain and stopping him from crunching, so it has to be done.

So this is hardly major surgery.

But.

It's still a general anaesthetic, and he's not a young cat any more (he'll be 12 in 6 months).

More than that, he's my adored, beloved Tom.

I know others have been through much more devastating pet-related trauma recently, and my heart goes out to you, I can only imagine how hard it must be.

But I'm still scared that something bad's going to happen to Tom. I don't know how I'd handle it, I really don't.

Tom is so much more to me than "just a cat". He's beautiful, kind, affectionate, intelligent, soft, cuddly and oh, so adorable! He's helped me through more bad times than anyone else, ever. He's always there when I need him, he knows when I'm down. He'll come up to me and jump on to my lap, licking my face and letting me know he's there, he understands, and he wants me to feel better.

I truly love him with all my heart and would do anything for him. You couldn't imagine a better cat, you really couldn't.

Now, I'm not a religious person AT ALL (even if my daughters both go to a Catholic school...), but tonight, I'm praying to the Great Tuna Fish in the sky that He take care of my sweet Tom tomorrow... Please pray with me!

Gratuitous photos

Well, I'm still pissed off that I've fucked up NaBloPoMo - it really isn't a hard thing to do and yet I managed to fuck up after only 9 days... Pathetic.

And I've eaten another shitload of chocolate (not to mention the crackers and marmalade earlier on) this evening so I feel sick all over again. Even more pathetic.

BUT:

I've sort of started tidying up the crap heaped up behind my desk (haven't got very far, of course, but at least I've started... and the heap has been there for around 2 years, after all!) and intend to take advantage of the rain promised for tomorrow to KEEP GOING and maybe even get things looking presentable in at least 10% of this flat. Woohoo!

AND:

As I said to Busted yesterday, here are some gratuitous pictures of my wonderful (but slightly chubby) cat, Tom. He really is an exceptional feline: to start with, he has an exceptional appetite and would/could probably eat his bodyweight in croquettes every day if given the chance. But better than that, he's amazingly affectionate, highly sensitive to mood and state of mind, fun-loving and playful even at the advanced age of 11 and a half and, oh, just an all-round purrfect cat! Not that I'm biased, or anything...

Just look at the intelligent, thoughtful pose...

...and that lean, svelte body...(OK, not so much - but oh, soooo fluffy and soft!)

...and finally, the brooding film star look...!