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.