"..and every breath that is in your lungs is a tiny little gift to me..."
FIRST...
I've come to realize that I know that you know that I like cats. But when you think this, some of you picture different particular cats I am particularly known to like.
I'd think most on this here LJ would say...Key. Cause really, she is the belle of the ball when it comes to felines. I fancy her. And then there's Creep. Who I hate ever since she went all HELLO GOOD-BIPOLAR on our asses. I hate her because I once loved. I still love, but with the motivation of hate. To love, to hate, to love. But all is fair in love and bipolar cats.
Anyways, I realized I've never communicated my love for my cats. At my house. That I've grown up with. My saucy home slices.
This is all going to lead into a great story, I swear. As much as I can.
Introduction:
-I've had a ton of cats through out my whole life since I was 1-year-old. They have all been primarily outdoor cats. They'd come in during inclement weather, but I have a yard and woods, so they stayed out there to kill things for me as gifts.
Subject 1: Anthony.
Now 18-years-old. He is what he sounds like. A grumpy old Italian man who's hard of hearing and just doesn't give a fuck anymore.
He's grey with green eyes and he's beefy in a non-fat way. Like a "little lion" which I used to call him in his younger years. Now, I refer to him as "Old Man".
If you pet his head, you better plan on being there for a while because when you stop, he will find that hand and he will jump at it and bite if necessary to continue said petting, but if you try and pick him up, he will back hand your grandmother.
Subject 2: Buddy.
An estimated 15-years-old. Buddy is the cat I gave a major gender complex to. When I was young, around 9, I said "I want a cat named Buddy. I've wanted one for a while, but we keep keeping girl cats. I don't care. Next cat we get, I'ma name it Buddy. That's it. That's what I'ma gonna do."
So I did, and I feel like when I was gone for that 3 years, everyone had completely forgotten that Buddy was in fact a girl cat. To this day, no one in my family barely ever gets it right.
Buddy I always explain by saying "such a good cat". Buddy never attacks, never causes trouble, is shy but enjoys just enough affection. Always wants to be around you, but just simply by you, never "all up onz". Buddy, unlike our dog, respects personal space.
Anthony and Buddy are actually half brother and sister from different litters, same mom. Anthony is the aggressor and Buddy is completely submissive to him. Buddy does what Anthony does. Anthony eats first while Buddy waits.
Basically, if something were to happen to Buddy, Anthony couldn't really give a shit. And if he did, hell, he'd forget after a couple days anyways. But if something were to happen to Anthony, no matter how much of a dick he was to Buddy, Buddy would miss him sorely and be quite lonely I'm sure of it.
Now. THE STORY. Of Buddy. Titled "Such a Good Cat."
A few weeks ago, Buddy was out in the yard with me, per usual. I was fixing up what was left of my garden and Buddy would follow me to which ever area I was in and sit directly on the other side of my chicken wired garden fence to accompany my almost every move.
For some reason in my backyard Concord grapes have taken to grow "wild" in vines in the trees and you can tell when they're ripe and there because you can SMELL THEM EVERYWHERE back there and they smell delicious!
So I step out of my garden and I just stand there looking up in the trees trying to find they're exact location and if they're even reachable. Buddy then comes to my side and sits facing the trees as if she were looking too. Then my mind goes somewhere else, I probably started thinking about ice cream or dinosaurs or sex involving ice cream with chocolate cover dinosaurs, the usual, but I stood there completely still for a while and the whole time Buddy stood just as still as I.
Then all of a sudden out of nowhere I hear Buddy let out a "MERRROOOW" and quickly turned and limped over a couple feet then laid down. Buddy not being a very vocal cat, I tended to her requests of attention. She let out a little meow again then tried to get up, but couldn't then flopped back down.
Anthony, being the cat that he is, heard Buddy's cry and immediately came rushing over as I thought to see what was wrong. But it turns out Anthony was just in a hurry to run over and head butt Buddy in her times of pain. I waved him away and Buddy eventually got up and started walking, but with a limp on her rear left leg. Due to the situation, I figured Buddy had maybe just gotten bit by a bug or one of those spiders my yard has seemed to have 10 times as many this year. If not that, maybe she went to move and just moved the wrong way and pulled something.
Over 2 weeks went by and although the limp didn't appear as painful to her in any way, it was still there. So off to the vet I took her.
The car ride was less than fun for her. I believe it may have been the worst car ride of her life. When we get there the vet starts pushing and pulling on the legs. The left is especially sore to her. The vet says maybe it's a jarred knee or a fracture. We then move on to the X-rays.
After waiting in the X-ray showcase room, the vet comes and and smacks the x-ray onto the light box. "Look at that! That's a bb. There's nothing wrong with your cats leg. No fractures, no damage. Someone shot her with a pellet gun!"
Son of a bitch! There was nothing the vet could do. No damage was done, it didn't hit bone. It was in the muscle and fat of her rear left leg, near the butt. She said the bb was going to stay in her and wouldn't cause her any pain or harm. I figured, hell, Rob's been living with a bb in the palm of his hand for years, I guess my cat could live with one in her ass. Since the wound was somewhat fresh, all she could do was give pain meds if needed. Eventually the wound will heal and she'll be fine.
Buddy. My cat. TOOK A BULLET FOR ME.
While I was standing there. Right next to me, she was shot. I'm not even going to get into how or why it happened cause we don't know. It could have been a lot of ways. Could have been a kid deep in the woods shooting targets and missed. It could have been from a car driving by. On purpose or not. Who knows. But, the asshole neighbor came to mind as years and years ago when the cats ventured further the asshole neighbor's old wife once told my mother that when our cats would pick through his garbage he would shoot at them with his bb gun. And I know he has guns cause when I was about 8 or 10, his step daughter showed them too me when he wasn't home. Little does he know I've shot that very bb gun before and we even considered shooting the revolver he just left on the floor underneath his bed. We were trying to decide if it had blanks or real bullets in it. We decided to just let it be. It was much scarier than the bb gun. (WTF!!!!)
And I said it before, if I knew for sure who did it and if it was on purpose, I'd have no problem with breaking a nose. Now I'm not one to resort to violence, but in such situations, who couldn't argue a broken nose as deserving?
Anyways. That cat very well could have taken that bullet for me. Now, the way we were standing. Buddy was to my left. She was hit on her left leg. If she wasn't such a good cat and didn't want to be around me and wasn't there at all, there's a good chance that that bb would be in my ankle right now. Buddy knows me so well, she knew I didn't have insurance so she took that bullet FOR ME!
I can't complain about a $130 vet bill I paid, not only is that cheap for a vet(including rabies booster, visit, meds, x-rays, medical waste), but I bet you anything Bridgeport Hospitals bill would have been MUCH higher.
I wish I could say that Buddy understands how much I sympathize and appreciate her. She's currently not speaking to me. Every time I go in the basement to visit her the past couple days she hides, which she never does, because last time she came to me I shoved her in a cage. Even when I come down with food, she thinks I'm trying to poison her because of the first time I tried to give her a piece of a med in her food. She tasted it immediatly and wouldn't eat the rest.
I'm sure in a week or so she'll warm up to me again and next summer she'll be accompanying me every time I tend to my caribbean hebeneros and white eggplant, except this season she'll be sporting kevlar underneath her fur coat.
Buddy. Is SUCH a good cat.
I've come to realize that I know that you know that I like cats. But when you think this, some of you picture different particular cats I am particularly known to like.
I'd think most on this here LJ would say...Key. Cause really, she is the belle of the ball when it comes to felines. I fancy her. And then there's Creep. Who I hate ever since she went all HELLO GOOD-BIPOLAR on our asses. I hate her because I once loved. I still love, but with the motivation of hate. To love, to hate, to love. But all is fair in love and bipolar cats.
Anyways, I realized I've never communicated my love for my cats. At my house. That I've grown up with. My saucy home slices.
This is all going to lead into a great story, I swear. As much as I can.
Introduction:
-I've had a ton of cats through out my whole life since I was 1-year-old. They have all been primarily outdoor cats. They'd come in during inclement weather, but I have a yard and woods, so they stayed out there to kill things for me as gifts.
Subject 1: Anthony.
Now 18-years-old. He is what he sounds like. A grumpy old Italian man who's hard of hearing and just doesn't give a fuck anymore.
He's grey with green eyes and he's beefy in a non-fat way. Like a "little lion" which I used to call him in his younger years. Now, I refer to him as "Old Man".
If you pet his head, you better plan on being there for a while because when you stop, he will find that hand and he will jump at it and bite if necessary to continue said petting, but if you try and pick him up, he will back hand your grandmother.
Subject 2: Buddy.
An estimated 15-years-old. Buddy is the cat I gave a major gender complex to. When I was young, around 9, I said "I want a cat named Buddy. I've wanted one for a while, but we keep keeping girl cats. I don't care. Next cat we get, I'ma name it Buddy. That's it. That's what I'ma gonna do."
So I did, and I feel like when I was gone for that 3 years, everyone had completely forgotten that Buddy was in fact a girl cat. To this day, no one in my family barely ever gets it right.
Buddy I always explain by saying "such a good cat". Buddy never attacks, never causes trouble, is shy but enjoys just enough affection. Always wants to be around you, but just simply by you, never "all up onz". Buddy, unlike our dog, respects personal space.
Anthony and Buddy are actually half brother and sister from different litters, same mom. Anthony is the aggressor and Buddy is completely submissive to him. Buddy does what Anthony does. Anthony eats first while Buddy waits.
Basically, if something were to happen to Buddy, Anthony couldn't really give a shit. And if he did, hell, he'd forget after a couple days anyways. But if something were to happen to Anthony, no matter how much of a dick he was to Buddy, Buddy would miss him sorely and be quite lonely I'm sure of it.
Now. THE STORY. Of Buddy. Titled "Such a Good Cat."
A few weeks ago, Buddy was out in the yard with me, per usual. I was fixing up what was left of my garden and Buddy would follow me to which ever area I was in and sit directly on the other side of my chicken wired garden fence to accompany my almost every move.
For some reason in my backyard Concord grapes have taken to grow "wild" in vines in the trees and you can tell when they're ripe and there because you can SMELL THEM EVERYWHERE back there and they smell delicious!
So I step out of my garden and I just stand there looking up in the trees trying to find they're exact location and if they're even reachable. Buddy then comes to my side and sits facing the trees as if she were looking too. Then my mind goes somewhere else, I probably started thinking about ice cream or dinosaurs or sex involving ice cream with chocolate cover dinosaurs, the usual, but I stood there completely still for a while and the whole time Buddy stood just as still as I.
Then all of a sudden out of nowhere I hear Buddy let out a "MERRROOOW" and quickly turned and limped over a couple feet then laid down. Buddy not being a very vocal cat, I tended to her requests of attention. She let out a little meow again then tried to get up, but couldn't then flopped back down.
Anthony, being the cat that he is, heard Buddy's cry and immediately came rushing over as I thought to see what was wrong. But it turns out Anthony was just in a hurry to run over and head butt Buddy in her times of pain. I waved him away and Buddy eventually got up and started walking, but with a limp on her rear left leg. Due to the situation, I figured Buddy had maybe just gotten bit by a bug or one of those spiders my yard has seemed to have 10 times as many this year. If not that, maybe she went to move and just moved the wrong way and pulled something.
Over 2 weeks went by and although the limp didn't appear as painful to her in any way, it was still there. So off to the vet I took her.
The car ride was less than fun for her. I believe it may have been the worst car ride of her life. When we get there the vet starts pushing and pulling on the legs. The left is especially sore to her. The vet says maybe it's a jarred knee or a fracture. We then move on to the X-rays.
After waiting in the X-ray showcase room, the vet comes and and smacks the x-ray onto the light box. "Look at that! That's a bb. There's nothing wrong with your cats leg. No fractures, no damage. Someone shot her with a pellet gun!"
Son of a bitch! There was nothing the vet could do. No damage was done, it didn't hit bone. It was in the muscle and fat of her rear left leg, near the butt. She said the bb was going to stay in her and wouldn't cause her any pain or harm. I figured, hell, Rob's been living with a bb in the palm of his hand for years, I guess my cat could live with one in her ass. Since the wound was somewhat fresh, all she could do was give pain meds if needed. Eventually the wound will heal and she'll be fine.
Buddy. My cat. TOOK A BULLET FOR ME.
While I was standing there. Right next to me, she was shot. I'm not even going to get into how or why it happened cause we don't know. It could have been a lot of ways. Could have been a kid deep in the woods shooting targets and missed. It could have been from a car driving by. On purpose or not. Who knows. But, the asshole neighbor came to mind as years and years ago when the cats ventured further the asshole neighbor's old wife once told my mother that when our cats would pick through his garbage he would shoot at them with his bb gun. And I know he has guns cause when I was about 8 or 10, his step daughter showed them too me when he wasn't home. Little does he know I've shot that very bb gun before and we even considered shooting the revolver he just left on the floor underneath his bed. We were trying to decide if it had blanks or real bullets in it. We decided to just let it be. It was much scarier than the bb gun. (WTF!!!!)
And I said it before, if I knew for sure who did it and if it was on purpose, I'd have no problem with breaking a nose. Now I'm not one to resort to violence, but in such situations, who couldn't argue a broken nose as deserving?
Anyways. That cat very well could have taken that bullet for me. Now, the way we were standing. Buddy was to my left. She was hit on her left leg. If she wasn't such a good cat and didn't want to be around me and wasn't there at all, there's a good chance that that bb would be in my ankle right now. Buddy knows me so well, she knew I didn't have insurance so she took that bullet FOR ME!
I can't complain about a $130 vet bill I paid, not only is that cheap for a vet(including rabies booster, visit, meds, x-rays, medical waste), but I bet you anything Bridgeport Hospitals bill would have been MUCH higher.
I wish I could say that Buddy understands how much I sympathize and appreciate her. She's currently not speaking to me. Every time I go in the basement to visit her the past couple days she hides, which she never does, because last time she came to me I shoved her in a cage. Even when I come down with food, she thinks I'm trying to poison her because of the first time I tried to give her a piece of a med in her food. She tasted it immediatly and wouldn't eat the rest.
I'm sure in a week or so she'll warm up to me again and next summer she'll be accompanying me every time I tend to my caribbean hebeneros and white eggplant, except this season she'll be sporting kevlar underneath her fur coat.
Buddy. Is SUCH a good cat.