I don't like litter boxes. I don't like cat hair on my cool black clothes. I don't like having to find a catsitter when I go out of town. Plus, a friend was coming for New Year's and he might not like cats. No excuse worked. Indie (named after the street on which I found him, Soldado de la Independencia or Soldier of Independence) and I were roommates now.
Indie's a skinny fellow. He was covered in charcoal. His nails were shaved down to nothing. His ears were black and bald. But from the moment I picked him up, he snuggled, purred, and looked into my eyes with that adorable stare. My heart was taken. But being in a relationship means taking the good with the bad.
The thing is, like most men who haven't been fixed, he doesn't really care who loves him so long as he's the center of attention. Truly nondiscriminatory, Indie flirts with everyone--men, women, birds, horses. So when my friend arrived, Indie welcomed him and they too became friends.
But then Indie realized he'd lost his place in the bed and my attention was now divided. He stopped eating and stopped drinking water. He even gave me ringworm (on the back of my neck, on my cheek, and on one arm). Was he sabotaging my plans for a romantic start to 2008?
Stubborn. He's so stubborn we spent the first day of the year in the hospital as Indie got an I.V. and really expensive food no cat would refuse. He ended up hospitalized for three days. But he gained a whole kilo while there and I got the start to 2008 I wanted.
Now that it's just the two of us again, Indie seems a little sad. I think he liked the competition. This morning, as if to tell me he can leave whenever he wants, he jumped up on the balcony table. I came out with some food and he said...
2 comments:
(hair x 7)+(litterboxes x 7)+(vet bills x7)= catatonic
Yes, one cat is good. Two cats is better for the cats. Any more might be catatonic.
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