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juushikaI have these moments where I go: !!! I have a cat!
Love bites may be my favorite form of affection—and against purring and rub-my-tummy floppiness and simple "I want to lay right here so that I'm just touching you, yes, exactly like this," that's saying something. They're a form of affection I give, and so they're one I understand. From me they indicate love, and possessiveness, and the fact that not all love is gentle but it doesn't quite have to hurt, either; they're a sort of love that not everyone wants or understands, which therefore means all the more when another does accept and treasure it (or tolerate it, at least). Love biting was hardly a requirement when I went in search of August (and indeed other than simple closeness, she didn't show any specific, outgoing signs of affection when we first met), but it tickles me to find it in her anyway. I know some people don't like it, and some would want to train it out of her—but I'm the sort that loves it when puppies chew on her fingers, even with their sharp little teeth: I love physicality, I love affection that isn't all floof and cuddles, I love touch with depth and meaning; I love that I found a cat who found me, who loves in a way that I understand, and that I can understand it.
This does have me thinking a bit about my self-as-cat, and those experiences in this context, but those thoughts are still percolating.
Unfortunately, August is starving to death. She's not even on a diet insomuch as she's simply eating regular meals plus treats instead of eating constantly, by which I do mean nonstop. Nonetheless this seems to be equivalent to a death sentence. She begs for food as if this single moment is her last hope to find a meal before she perishes; she begs for meals as if her feeding three hours previous never happened and since she's convinced of that, I can be too. It's a blessing that she has a cute meow instead of a big booming meow (we're looking at you, Spike): her begging isn't as annoying as it could be. But still, oh cat: get over yourself.
The relationship between Spike and August continues to evolve. August has reached the point where she wants to play with Spike, bouncing around him and running down hallways like her big fluffy tail is on fire; Spike is a bit passed the age for frequent play, so he mostly looks at her as if one or the both of them is very confused, and then goes in sniffing, calling search of her when she darts away. But Spike has his moments, and today after August had finally worn herself out with the one-sided play he went bounding up the stairs and tearing back and forth across the hallway overhead, and August got a O.O look on her face of WAIT THAT NEVER HAPPENS I AM SO CONFUSE.
The minutiae of me and my cat and our household may not be particularly fascinating to others. It can be damn hilarious for us (man, you should see Spike on catnip) and it's a learning experience, too, but it's not quite the same as sharing adorable kitty pictures. But the fact that it has become a life, a household, the fact that it has developed minutiae and patterns, all while August has been here for just over a week—this is what I signed up for. This is what I want. I've lived with cats before and I love them all, but this is my cat, my sister/daughter cat; this is my addition to the strange and sprawling families that I have here and there. There is so much more to what that means to me—but it also just means my cat, my silly little stealing-the-blanket running-through-the-halls dying-of-hunger cat, and the daily life of us. And I am so thankful for these things, small and silly and boring as they are. They stop me. They make me go !!!.
Love bites may be my favorite form of affection—and against purring and rub-my-tummy floppiness and simple "I want to lay right here so that I'm just touching you, yes, exactly like this," that's saying something. They're a form of affection I give, and so they're one I understand. From me they indicate love, and possessiveness, and the fact that not all love is gentle but it doesn't quite have to hurt, either; they're a sort of love that not everyone wants or understands, which therefore means all the more when another does accept and treasure it (or tolerate it, at least). Love biting was hardly a requirement when I went in search of August (and indeed other than simple closeness, she didn't show any specific, outgoing signs of affection when we first met), but it tickles me to find it in her anyway. I know some people don't like it, and some would want to train it out of her—but I'm the sort that loves it when puppies chew on her fingers, even with their sharp little teeth: I love physicality, I love affection that isn't all floof and cuddles, I love touch with depth and meaning; I love that I found a cat who found me, who loves in a way that I understand, and that I can understand it.
This does have me thinking a bit about my self-as-cat, and those experiences in this context, but those thoughts are still percolating.
Unfortunately, August is starving to death. She's not even on a diet insomuch as she's simply eating regular meals plus treats instead of eating constantly, by which I do mean nonstop. Nonetheless this seems to be equivalent to a death sentence. She begs for food as if this single moment is her last hope to find a meal before she perishes; she begs for meals as if her feeding three hours previous never happened and since she's convinced of that, I can be too. It's a blessing that she has a cute meow instead of a big booming meow (we're looking at you, Spike): her begging isn't as annoying as it could be. But still, oh cat: get over yourself.
The relationship between Spike and August continues to evolve. August has reached the point where she wants to play with Spike, bouncing around him and running down hallways like her big fluffy tail is on fire; Spike is a bit passed the age for frequent play, so he mostly looks at her as if one or the both of them is very confused, and then goes in sniffing, calling search of her when she darts away. But Spike has his moments, and today after August had finally worn herself out with the one-sided play he went bounding up the stairs and tearing back and forth across the hallway overhead, and August got a O.O look on her face of WAIT THAT NEVER HAPPENS I AM SO CONFUSE.
The minutiae of me and my cat and our household may not be particularly fascinating to others. It can be damn hilarious for us (man, you should see Spike on catnip) and it's a learning experience, too, but it's not quite the same as sharing adorable kitty pictures. But the fact that it has become a life, a household, the fact that it has developed minutiae and patterns, all while August has been here for just over a week—this is what I signed up for. This is what I want. I've lived with cats before and I love them all, but this is my cat, my sister/daughter cat; this is my addition to the strange and sprawling families that I have here and there. There is so much more to what that means to me—but it also just means my cat, my silly little stealing-the-blanket running-through-the-halls dying-of-hunger cat, and the daily life of us. And I am so thankful for these things, small and silly and boring as they are. They stop me. They make me go !!!.
