Random rant for the evening: Man plans and the universe laughs.
The title isn't a joke, a euphemism or random nonsensical phrasing. There really is a cat on my back. A little, eight lb black cat. He's about two years old. We're off by a month or so but there isn't any way to tell for certain as he was found living under a friend's bushes in the hottest week of August, 2013. The poor little guy was malnourished and dehydrated and you could count every little bone in his body but he turned out to be otherwise perfectly healthy. The friend that called said they had been trying to catch him for about three days and he wouldn't hold still so they called me to see if I would come and try my hand at it since they knew we already had several cats and were good with animals in general. Amazingly enough, he walked right up to me as soon as I went to their house. He just walked over, sat on his furry little ass and cocked his head at me with a curious little meow, as if he was asking me what had taken me so long to get there. He let me pick him up too. I have no idea why he chose to allow me this courtesy when he'd been a complete little asshole to the very nice folks who had been trying to rescue him for three days. Of course, the asshole side came right out as soon as I shoved him into the box I'd brought along for transportation purposes. He fought like a mad thing too, bucking and screaming and displaying unimaginable strength for a 3lb half dead creature. I had to keep one arm on the box pushing down the lid all the way to the vet. I was terrified he would get out and we'd go up in a Dukes Of Hazard-worthy blazing ball of fire on the freeway.
Anyway, the plan was to not keep this little guy. We already had four cats and a dog. I was already dodging the label of crazy cat lady more than Miley Cyrus was dodging "where did you learn to twerk?" questions. So the plan was to take him to the same rescue where we got our twins, Long Beach Spay And Neuter, and see if they would keep him, with our sponsorship, until someone could adopt him. What I didn't count on was my husband coming home and, after I sheepishly told him that there was another kitten in the house, having him take one look at the little guy and say "That's our kitten. We're keeping him." After picking my jaw up off the floor, I said no! No freaking way! We can't be the crazy cat people with five cats. He said look at him. He's home.
And he was. We didn't name him right away. My husband has a theory that cats pick their own names. You throw enough names around and one will finally just magically fit perfectly. The name that fit our particular ball of deviltry was Loki. He was so named because this particular kitten was insanely energetic, way more than any other cat we'd ever had, and managed to not only drive all the other cats to new heights of drama and playful romping, but he somehow started jumping onto our shoulders when we came home, resulting in several cursing fits and scratch cleaning sessions involving yet more cursing. He runs up onto the back of the couch and then throws himself into the air and either you lean in to catch him or god help you and your skin cause he's coming whether you're ready or not. He finally trained us with the proper behavior and now we have a peaceful détente, which means he gets his ride around on our shoulders when we come home and we get head rubs and tiny kitty kisses in return. He also sleeps snuggled in next to my side or on my husband's feet, an insane amount of heat even though he's stayed a tiny cat, weighing in at only a little over 7 lbs. But what he's best at now, at least since about two months ago, is sleeping on my back. I tend to read a lot, especially before going to bed at night, and to keep the lights out so my husband can sleep, I read on my kindle or on a tablet and the most comfortable position for me is on my stomach with a pillow under my chin. So Loki has learned that he can climb on top of my head, grab my head with both paws, give my head a couple of licks and then fall asleep. His little paws will fall down around my ears and he'll give a big relaxed sigh and just go boneless. It's the most comforting and trusting thing I've felt from another being since my oldest cat, Ever, tucked himself under my hair and nudged the back of my ear looking for a nipple to nuzzle because when I got him he was so little that he hadn't yet been fully weaned.
So despite my plans to brush up against this little life and pass it on to someone else for safe keeping, he somehow managed to stick. I don't know how this happens, this special connection between beings. We have three other cats. They're wonderful, sweet, abiding cats and we love them. I don't love them any less but the fact remains they would be just as happy and as biddable if they went to live with another loving owner tomorrow. But there's just something special that exists between Ever and Loki and I, something that I can't explain adequately, a kind of shared understanding that we belong to one another, that it would not be the same between them and another person. What do you call that? Is there a label for it? No idea. I just know that despite my plans for a less crowed menagerie, I somehow got exactly what I needed.
August 27th, 2014
Long Beach, CA
(note: yes, we did look for prior owners. No tags, no chips, no posters, no answers to inquiries. We think he was either dumped or someone moved and left him. By the time I got him he'd been out by himself for at least a week, according to the vet's estimate, based on condition.)
