Dear Unappreciative Cat,
It’s been three years today, since we brought you home from the RSPCA, where you had found yourself unceremoniously dumped as a stray.
While the kids were desperate for a pet kitten, I was on the hunt for a mouser, after a disgustingly mouse-filled Winter of continuously and relentlessly having to wipe out our kitchen cupboards. Yuck.
You weren’t our first choice, given that you were still sneezing and weepy eyed after a bout of Cat Flu had put your already pathetic little body through the wringer, but something about you caught our attention. Your ears looked so massive on your little head, and you looked so forlorn sitting in your quarantine cage that we just couldn’t say no. So, armed with a script for your antibiotics, and a list of scheduled vaccinations to attend to, we headed home with you.
Welcome Home, Unappreciative Baby Cat.
You settled in nicely, prancing your way across the wooden floors, eyeballing the dogs (your new brother and sister), and proceeding to unceremoniously groom yourself under the kitchen table. You were home.
You didn’t have a name straight away, but you sure have gained a few nicknames since (not including the swear words I direct your way when you bite me). Unappreciative Cat seems to be the most fitting title of them all, although you do occasionally answer to your official name of Timtom.
We discovered early on that you had three favourite things in your world. Boxes to hide in (and pounce out of), warm places to nap, and food. You found no shortage of these things in your new home. I think you wished that there were more of these things, and less humans, but maybe I’m mistaken.
Unnappreciative Cat looking slightly appreciative of his favourite nap spots
We discovered that you were quite the contortionist in your sleeping positions, and as you settled into life with us, we noticed you were really growing….And growing….And growing.
I nudged Hot Husband one day, as I watched you saunter across the kitchen, with your fluffy, white cloud belly swaying from side to side.
“Do you think Old Mate is getting a bit…..fat? Maybe we ought to cut back on his food a bit?”
You just glared at me from beside your food dish, and yowled to be fed.
Side note: enforcing any kind of diet with you turns you into a total arsehole, as we learned the hard way. So, mate, our strategy is to keep you fat, and keep you happy. Too easy. No diet for you.
Adventure cat, adventuring.
You think you are quite the adventurer, and it brings you such joy to lunge out from under a bed, or coffee table, and sink your teeth into my calf or ankle on passing. What a game! Such fun! You also enjoy playing glaring games from the front porch with the neighbour’s cat (aptly named Teleporting Cat around here, for his remarkable ability to pop up out of nowhere), which occasionally ends in mad dashes of feline masculinity across the lawn, from either you, or him. You’re both as stupid as each other. I keep telling you, you’re both desexed. You’ve got your turf. Get over it.
Not appreciating Christmas…
…..Or even his third birthday party.
So, three years later, we have no mice in the place (though you’ve never actually caught one), and occasionally, if your mood is right, you’ll sit on our lap for a cuddle, completely at your discretion, of course, and only if you’ve deemed our lap to be warmer than any other option.
We’ve come to realise that you literally only see us as providers of warm surfaces, and a daily dose of your wet food; a mixed meat monstrosity that we call Turducken, even if it’s fish guts, or minced chicken. When you want something, you can be the smoochiest little soul, and if a visitor was to see how loving you can be at Turducken time, they could be totally mistaken for thinking you are a really nice cat.
Actually, you’re a total jerk, but you’re OUR total jerk, and we love you anyway.
You’ll never care that we saved your life by adopting you from the shelter that day three years ago, but on the rare occasion that you let us rub that deliciously soft white belly of yours (before getting fed up and biting us again), we realise it doesn’t matter.
Even Unappreciative Cats deserve the best.
Happy Anniversary old mate.
Rysie (You know, the one who cleans out your litter tray? Yeah, me.)