My cat.

So, I’ll just go ahead and say it:  I’m a cat lady.  It’s true.  I only have a single cat, but I love him dearly.  The past two years of my life have been sort of disastrous and horrible in many ways; he has been my best buddy and my solid fuzzy rock.  He didn’t start out that way… he came to me through a car window in a grocery store parking lot (Shop Rite in New Paltz, NY!) from a friend who was overwhelmed by wildlife babies.  I told her I would take the tiny sick kitten she was also trying to care for.  He was about two and a half weeks old when I got him.  He weighed 8 ounces.  He had a severe respiratory infection, goopy eyes, and he was flea-ridden.  The vet told me she’d heard worse lungs, but not much worse.  Anyhow…  I told everyone I was just going to foster him and then find him a good home.  No one actually believed that tale but me.  Fast forward to today?  My baby is a luxurious four year old with thick, glossy black fur, a bright white badge on his chest… and a bum right eye, the leftovers of his kittenhood illness.  His doctor asked if I wanted her to remove the eye, but he still had vision in it – still does – it’s just cloudy.  And it tears – scarred tear ducts, I’m sure.  He is kind of a punk, but he is learning to be gentle, and if nothing else, he is a total mama’s boy… which is fine by me.  Right now I feel as though it’s me and him against the world.  I am so glad to have him by my side.  He’s a fighter – he never would have lived otherwise – so I will try to take that lesson from him.  My bub, my Remington.

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