Wednesday, 25 May 2016

Get the violins out, you're in for a sob story

I never knew my mother. She didn't want me. Left me in a dumpster along with yesterday's leftovers and sticky takeaway cartons.

I was no more than two days old, still had the umblicial cord attached to my belly like some useless, filthy piece of old string Mama dearest had chewed through to sever the maternal bond. 

I don’t remember much from those first two days. I know it was dark (my eyes were closed), and scary, and unknown. Too weak to climb out, and with a hunger gnawing away at me, all I could do was cry. Who knows? Maybe the sound would reawaken some semblance of pity in the female who dumped me like a used paper napkin.

But my mother didn't hear me. No female did. A man did. A big, loud, clumsy fella whose chat and laughter died the minute his oafish ears caught the sound of my mewling when he came to dump his own garbage. The harsh joviality in his voice softened as I felt warm hands scoop me up and a strange cooing sound rain down on me as a work-roughened fingers stroked my head. Before I knew it, I heard doors slam and an engine start up. New smells, very different from the stench I’d been sitting in, invaded my nostrils. I didn’t know anything about anything, except for my fear. And my hunger.

I was put in a box lined with something soft and warm. I snuffled up against it, paddling it with my feet, but was rewarded with no sustenance. But at least it’s smelt safer somehow. I ignored my growling belly and curled up against the softness to sleep.

I awoke to new hands lifting me out of the box, touching me, making soft sounds and trying to push something in my mouth. I fought it, frightened of the invasion, but then a few drop of something warm and wet gave me hope. I grabbed the tiny piece of plastic and began suckling, greedily, frantically. Soon, I was full, and my belly was aching. I soiled myself and was lifted into warm water where my feet paddled to find the way my still closed eyes couldn’t.

But I didn’t need to see to know that, by some kind of random act, I had found my way home. Or rather, it had found me…

That was nearly three years ago. 
The humans are part of my life now, and if I’m honest I’m quite fond of them. Big Red still feeds me every morning (she’s the easiest to wake), and Dangly Man (the one who rescued me from my humble dumpster beginnings) is as soft and forgiving as a marshmallow, even when I knock things off shelves to get his attention.

I even allow them to sit or sleep in my place now and then, just so long as they know they are tolerated as guests who have to serve as pillows.

I mean, a cat’s gotta get its beauty sleep, hasn’t it? 
Especially one that’s had such a rough start in life as I have.

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