Thursday, February 10, 2011

A Place to Call Home

I'm an animal lover.  While sitting on the pot reading a little David Sedaris, I loved the way he described his sister as the type of person who would see a terrible car accident and first hope they didn't have a dog in the back seat.  Screw the people. 

I'm not quite that bad, but I do find myself rooting for the animals more than the people in life.  I can watch tv and movie people die from every horrible disease known to man and hardly shed a tear, but I try to avoid watching movies where the dog dies.  I don't even mind viewing the body at funerals.  Truth be known,  I find bodies in caskets somewhat fascinating and can stare for a bit longer than your normal person.  It didn't even bother me so much as a child.  This is not a blog post about death or funerals or the fact that I find the clothing choices of the deceased and the eternal makeup applied to their skin intriguing.  This is about my stray cat, Miss Kitty.

I'm sure you think the name Miss Kitty is stupid, but I never intended on naming her.  She was not to be a possession.  "Well, Hi, Miss Kitty!" the first few random times she showed up on my porch gradually morphed into the name on her imaginary birth certificate in my head.  While I do not own her, she is mine.  Well, I am hers.  I'm the only human who scratches her ears, pets her back, and provides her with food and water.  I didn't go to PetSmart and pick her out but was, instead, chosen by her.  Yeah, maybe she only chose me because I'm the kind of person who is saddened more by my relative's chihuahuas who died when her house burned down than I was when my piano teacher's sister died in her house fire.  I'm on the side of the animals.  Actually, it probably was the fact that I shared some of my indoor cat, Ollie's, food with her.  It has nearly been a year since I first fed her.  She used to show up every couple of days, might not see her for a week at a time.  Now, though, she is waiting on my front step every afternoon.  She waits for my voice, my touch, yes, my food.  I look for her to be there.  She needs me and I need her.

My house has windows across the front, so I have a view of the street and the lives of everyone who fits in the 15 foot wide expanse of disclosure those windows provide.  Just a few moments ago I noticed Miss Kitty walking across the street.  No rules or boundaries for her.  She was going to check out a car that had pulled in the driveway over there.  The owner of the car went inside and came back to the car.  Miss Kitty walked away and began to spray her mark on one of the bushes by the lady's driveway.  As soon as the car started Miss Kitty bolted across the street back to my driveway.  Back to her home.  Back to her safe place.  Back to where she has chosen to be.

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