On Rebecca's first Thanksgiving of doing all the cooking herself...
Obviously this week is Thanksgiving, but it's also the anniversary of something else. One year ago this week, I'd just gotten home after flying to another state for Thanksgiving. (It was a pretty stressful trip, and I stayed home this year.) The pet-sitter had been leaving food outside for Pippa while I was gone, and as soon as I could after I got back, I trapped her and kept her in the cage overnight with no food or water, and at the crack of dawn the next morning, I hauled her out to the low-cost spay/neuter clinic.
I brought her home that evening scared, hungry, sore from a big fresh incision across her abdomen, and confused from the anesthesia still in her system. And I did all this after already separating her from her kittens. I still remember the morning that I woke up super early, set the trap, and caught Bramble, the last one of the four. Pippa had been roaming away from the house, and I remember hearing her meow change when she got back. It went from calling Bramble to realizing that he was gone, too. I'm a terrible person who has done awful things in my life, but I'd never felt worse than I did then. She figured out that I'd taken her kittens, and for the entire time that they were with me before surrendering them to the shelter, she parked herself right outside and meowed loudly, nonstop 23 hours a day. (I am not exaggerating.) One night, I went outside to check something, and she came flying out of the darkness at my face with her claws out like something out of a horror movie.
The point is that I'd given Pippa a lot of reasons to hate me, and I was sure that she would. I kept her in the garage for the first night, but I was sure that once I let her out, she would take off into the neighborhood and never come near me or my house ever again. But that didn't happen. She wound up sitting in my lap letting me pet her on the very first night after her surgery, the same feral cat that I'd never even been able to touch or get close to before. It was the beginning of the most amazing transformation. Over the past year, Pippa has become probably the sweetest, cuddliest cat I have ever owned. Adopting Esme has helped her a lot in adjusting to being inside full-time. She has taught Pippa how to be an indoor cat, and they are mostly good companions and good company for each other. And all the progress Pippa has made happened because she chose grace and forgiveness at a time when she could've easily chosen to hate me. She chose to let me love her, in a way that I didn't deserve at all. I am so thankful that she adopted me. Thankful that I never got that loose crawlspace vent fixed. Thankful that I was here to intercede. I screw up at so many things, but nobody can tell me that I'm not a damn good cat-owner.
I brought her home that evening scared, hungry, sore from a big fresh incision across her abdomen, and confused from the anesthesia still in her system. And I did all this after already separating her from her kittens. I still remember the morning that I woke up super early, set the trap, and caught Bramble, the last one of the four. Pippa had been roaming away from the house, and I remember hearing her meow change when she got back. It went from calling Bramble to realizing that he was gone, too. I'm a terrible person who has done awful things in my life, but I'd never felt worse than I did then. She figured out that I'd taken her kittens, and for the entire time that they were with me before surrendering them to the shelter, she parked herself right outside and meowed loudly, nonstop 23 hours a day. (I am not exaggerating.) One night, I went outside to check something, and she came flying out of the darkness at my face with her claws out like something out of a horror movie.
The point is that I'd given Pippa a lot of reasons to hate me, and I was sure that she would. I kept her in the garage for the first night, but I was sure that once I let her out, she would take off into the neighborhood and never come near me or my house ever again. But that didn't happen. She wound up sitting in my lap letting me pet her on the very first night after her surgery, the same feral cat that I'd never even been able to touch or get close to before. It was the beginning of the most amazing transformation. Over the past year, Pippa has become probably the sweetest, cuddliest cat I have ever owned. Adopting Esme has helped her a lot in adjusting to being inside full-time. She has taught Pippa how to be an indoor cat, and they are mostly good companions and good company for each other. And all the progress Pippa has made happened because she chose grace and forgiveness at a time when she could've easily chosen to hate me. She chose to let me love her, in a way that I didn't deserve at all. I am so thankful that she adopted me. Thankful that I never got that loose crawlspace vent fixed. Thankful that I was here to intercede. I screw up at so many things, but nobody can tell me that I'm not a damn good cat-owner.