Longtime readers of this little chucklefest will know that I've written about this before, albeit as background to a larger tale, but there's a female in my life who loves me beyond reason, who melts at the very sight of me.
It's not her:
|I love Photoshop|
And it's not her (although she's on my Tootsie-sanctioned exception list):
|Ah, Charlize...I could eat you up without even having to coat you in batter|
And it's not her, although natural redheads make me weak in the knees and make my man-parts feel funny:
|You were the only reason I ever watched Six Feet Under|
And despite the rumors and whispers, mostly started by me, it's not even her (though we're thick as thieves):
|Hi Auntie Jo!|
|Meow meow purr purr meow. Seriously.|
This is my cat Pearl. And as much as she loves me, I must tell the reluctant truth: she is, to everyone on this planet except for me, a fucking bitch. She doesn't like Tootsie, she doesn't like our other cat Rusty, a red/orange Persian, and she absolutely hates our new addition, a was-gonna-be-stray-unless-we-stepped-up little drink of water named Maya. She is indifferent to guests, appearing for a courtesy petting before sauntering off with a twitch of her tail and a grand attitude.
With me, it's 100% different. It all started early on. Toots picked her and Rusty up from the shelter, and that by the way is a whole other story - which by the way I should write about sometime (Jo - it has to do with Sassy Brassy). So she didn't know me and I didn't know her. And at first she was a biter. I guess shelter living will do that to you. But the first time she bit me, I did what mama cats do with misbehaving kittens: I grabbed her by the back of the neck, pushed her down to the prone position, and talked low, right in her ear, that we didn't do things this way in the Jacobs house. As soon as I did this she became meek and submissive: like I've said before, if you want a cat to get your message, give her the message like a cat would give it. She ran away from me as soon as I let her go but maybe an hour later she was back and had an entirely different attitude - towards me at least. From that point forward we were inseparable, but she was still a flaming douchebag to everyone else in the house.
She's not a lap cat: she's never spent a minute on my lap, though she will traverse it to get from point A to point B. She prefers to sit next to me, which she will do for hours at a time - she's doing it now in fact as I write this and watch the football game. On those rare occasions when I bestir myself and actually get up off the couch, usually to piddle, she looks up at me with this look of sadness and betrayal, like there is no place on this earth that is better suited for my ass than the couch. I happen by the way to agree.
No human being loves anyone unconditionally. Human love is susceptible to so many obstacles, because we humans are so goddamn imperfect. Love fades, by time or circumstance or changing tastes. But the love that a cat has for the human whom s/he has picked out as The One simply never fades. Never ever. And through the slings and arrows of this shitty life that's a great comfort.
I love you too, Pearly girl. Now get up so I can put my laptop down.