As you have, no doubt, gathered I’ve begun to check out the WordPress Daily Prompts. They’re interesting and often inspire me. Yesterday’s had my imagination running wild. “Unconventional Love“. It went on to say, “Over the weekend we explored different ways to love. Today, tell us about the most unconventional love in your life.”
There’s no end to the possibilities. The mind boggles.
The most unconventional love in my life?? Hmmmm … . After thinking about it for a while I’ve come to the conclusion there’s never been anything about my love life one would consider unconventional. How boring. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it.
I’ve had a couple of long distance romances. But that hardly qualifies as unconventional. At least to me. It’s not exactly the norm, but lots of people have them. Do you think they’re unconventional? Unconventional love. I was stumped. Still am.
Okay, at the risk of having you think I’m completely insane, I do have a rather unique relationship with one of my cats. Please, hear me out before you call 911. Or head for the hills.
Bartlett (the cat in question) came into my life unexpectedly. I was already the mother of two fabulous felines. We were all content. Satisfied. Happy. I was sitting at my desk, at the office, minding my own business. It was a Friday afternoon, about twelve years ago. Suddenly an email came through from a friend of mine. Another cat freak.
On the email was a photo of the cutest little pussycat you have EVER seen. Charcoal grey and white. Great markings, especially on his face. Huge ears … well, not really … he was a wee baby and hadn’t grown into them yet. The subject line of the email was, “I know I can count on you”.
Damn! I was doomed. She knew exactly what she was doing.
There were three of these little sweeties. A very kind man had found them in a dumpster. Can you imagine?? His son suffered with asthma, so he couldn’t bring them home. Kind soul that he was, he brought them to the furniture factory where he worked. He fed them and cared for them, until they started to grow. Obviously he couldn’t keep them there, forever.
Somehow, he connected with my friend. By the time I got her email, they were in her basement, lounging on the pillows their saviour made for them.
She was enlisting my help to find homes for them. As quickly as possible, because she already had four cats of her own. It was a bit overcrowded there. I contacted everyone I knew. Finally one friend got back to me. A co-worker of hers was in the market for a kitten. Only thing was, she had her heart set on a white one. She refused to budge. It was a white cat or nothing. I took an immediate dislike to her.
Here we were with three kittens who’d been tossed in a dumpster, and she was holding out for a specific colour!
To make a long story short, we found homes for two out of the three. By then my friend was at the end of her rope and begged me to come and take the last one. The cutest, in my opinion. He was the one in the photo on the email. With his big ears, tiny body and funny little markings on his face, he was like a little cartoon cat. A true character.
Needless to say the instant I held him in my arms I was a goner. He was mine. He was going nowhere else.
He was so tiny I was afraid my other two cats would squash him. Or worse. So I slept in my guest room with him for three weeks. Behind closed doors. For an idea of just how teensy he was, his litter box was an aluminum tray from a toaster oven. My vet guessed he was no more than five weeks old. But he was healthy.
Our love for each other was immediate. He slept right under my chin, cuddled close to my body. He never stopped purring. He licked every square inch of my face every night. Then he moved to my hands and arms. I became his mother.
And still am. He is absolutely devoted to me. And possessive as hell. As far as he’s concerned I am his. Lock, stock and barrel. Period.
You can’t blame him, really.
No one quite believes our relationship. He talks to me. I mean, he has conversations with me. We can be sitting in the living room, watching TV, let’s say. Suddenly, from wherever he is, I can hear his little squeak. I know he’s talking to me. Just reminding me he’s there. So I’ll say, “Hi, Bartlett, what ‘cha doing?” And he’ll answer. And we’ll go back and forth like that until he’s talked out.
Hey, Michelle from WordPress asked about our more unconventional love stories. This is mine. So don’t blame me. I’d never have brought it up, otherwise. And there’s more. I’m not done yet. He follows me everywhere. He is never far from my side. He hates when I go out. He either looks sad, or he glares at me. If it was up to him, I’d never leave the house. He’s now the size of a large raccoon.
But he still sleeps beside me. Only now, instead of curling up under my chin, he sleeps with his head on the other pillow. Try explaining that to a man.