My family has three cats, Rose, John Connor, and Danger Cat. Rose is an old lady, she's been around since I was seven or eight years old (which makes her nine or ten), she's got black fur with random brownish speckles. She used to have quite the personality, but now, in her older years she's grown rather tired and aloof. Danger Cat is a girl, she was a Christmas present for me and my little sister back in '08, she's got the shiniest black coat with a white patch on her chest. Danger Cat got her name because she runs around the house as if the "Mission Impossible" theme is playing in her head. She'll attack anything that moves and don't you dare tick her off.
And then there's my baby, John Connor. John Connor and I met at a sketchy animal auction in Venus (which is basically a part of redneck country where my real mom lives) in April 2009, he was in a wire cage with a sign taped to it reading "free". Now, the original purpose in obtaining a kitten was for my ex boyfriend, Bradley. He had been wanting one for a while and so I called him and asked if he still wanted a cat, and he said yes so I went to pull one out of the cage.
There were two kittens in there, and my first instinct was to reach for the adorable, chubbier one that was sleeping in the back. But as soon as I reached for her, the other kitten started freaking out, mewing and clawing at me through the cage, sad and disappointed (anyone who says animals don't feel emotion is a liar, you could hear the rejection in this poor kitten's cry), and my heart just broke. I placed the sleeping kitten I had originally picked up back into the cage (it was pretty apathetic and slept through the entire ordeal), and scooped wee John Connor into my hands. He was so small, the size of a tennis ball maybe, with big blue eyes and six toes on each paw. He immediately curled up against my chest and began purring like a motorboat. I was in love.
Well, that night Bradley and I broke up over the telephone due to some outside drama (yes, the telephone, lame, I know). And after how much he had ticked me off (it's all blown over and we're good friends now, by the way, we were just two people who should never, ever be in a relationship with anyone at all, let alone each other. But, I digress...) I was certainly not placing the life of such an adorable and precious creature in his hands. So, much to my dad's displeasure, the kitten was mine.
Now John Connor is all grown up, and he's the love of my life. He has such a sweet but adventurous temperament. I love him like he's my child, and when I move out of my house, he's coming with me. He also thinks he's a person. He likes to eat at the table and "knocks" on doors and he even has thumbs.
This evening I shared such a special moment with John Connor and Danger Cat. That sounds really odd. And you guys are probably like, "wow, this girl is going to be a crazy cat lady!" but I don't care.
The sky outside was just getting dark, and it was raining, so there was this gorgeous blue light filling up my room. I was laying in my bed, exhausted and falling asleep, listening to Grizzly Bear (which is one of my favorite bands to fall asleep to). John Connor and Danger Cat walk in. John Connor takes up post at the foot of my bed, keeping my feet warm in the meantime. He just sat there licking his paws and purring and observing. Danger Cat curled up next to my chest, her head sort of resting on me. And in that moment, everything was completely perfect. We were all just there, listening to the beautiful music and keeping each other safe. That moment was a Patronus.
I don't care what anyone says, my cats are fully capable and sentient beings with emotions and self awareness and motivations.
As much as I love dogs (I love all animals, really, and if it weren't for my rabbit allergy I really would have ended up becoming a vet tech) I will always be a die-hard cat person. I don't understand how anybody can dislike cats. They're intelligent and self-sustaining and they always seem to have a higher awareness of what's going on than most other pets. My cats always seem to know when something's up. If I'm sad, they freaking KNOW. They'll immediately come and cuddle with me or push their faces into my palm. If I'm angry, they stay out of the way. When I'm in a good mood, they know that's a good opportunity to beg for food.
They all have different personalities, and some can be more aggressive or friendlier than others, but generally cats will not go out of their way to bother you, unless you do something to tick them off. For example, one time when I still lived with my mother, my little brother kicked our cat Moo one day and later she took a dump in his closet (more proof that cats are crazy intelligent.)
Dear god. I love cats. But mostly mine. As I write this, John Connor is sitting on the floor of my bedroom swatting intently at one of my scarves hanging from my bed post.
So no one will probably read this entire post about my cats. But I don't care. I feel satisfied now. I got my writing jollies out. I was going to continue this post by writing about my thoughts and opinions on the nuclear family, but I'll save that one for another late night like this.
Keep calm and purr on.