Scratches and all

Callie is curled up beside me. She's so sweet and innocent. What a joy she is ... most of the time. The little beige spot on her head is endearing. That same beige colour makes a delicate collar around her neck. 

I come home from work. She's at the door waiting for me. She circles my ankles and looks up at me. Her love is obvious.

Her daddy is home.

I sit in my usual spot on the sofa. She looks up from the floor, leaps to my side and begins to nurse my shirt at the armpit. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen. I rescued her from the brush behind our apartment. I'm her mommy.

She naps. I look at my hand. It's scratched, punctured and scarred from her play. Even with a blanket wrapped around my hand, she makes her mark.

I did laundry. Ginny shopped at the grocery. One load was in the washer. The other load was piled on the floor near the washer. I watched a football game. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Callie walk into the living room carrying a pair of Ginny's panties in her mouth. She placed the panties in a box she plays with. After it was safely stored, she ran off. A moment later, she returned with one of my socks. She hid it behind the sofa and ran off.

I got up and met her coming back with another sock. I rushed to put the laundry piled on the floor into the hamper and out her reach. One of my socks is still missing. I have no idea where she hid it.

Callie tortures our older cat. Callie sees her and attacks Kitten. She chases her into our bedroom. Kitten leaps onto our bed and defends the perimeter with declawed paws.

Later, I found them both on the bed, asleep at opposing corners. They were boxers - gloves raised, judging their opponent. The standoff lasted longer than they did. Sleep was better.

She was a ball of fur that fit in my hand when I first rescued her. Three months later, she's more than a foot long and growing.

Look at her.

She sleeps and stretches with joy as my hand pets the length of her lean body.

A water bottle stands on our coffee table. It squirts water twelve feet in any direction. It's our tool to train Callie not to climb our fake tree in the corner, scratch the carpet or furniture, get on the counters, to stay off the table and to stop hurting Kitten.

We used to have a simple life, Ginny, Kitten and I. Kitten would stretch out at my feet and enjoy a pet on the head in the evening. Ginny and I would play a few games of cards, watch television and enjoy our evenings.

We rescued an abandoned kitty. Our lives have changed.

We love it, scratches and all.

Michael T. Smith

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