Wordless Wednesday but I just wanted to pause today and remember a very big part of my childhood that ended today. My cat Princess had to be put to sleep today. About a month before my sixth birthday, my Dad was leaving work when he saw a tiny kitten in the middle of the road. He saved her from being hit by a semi and brought her home in his jacket. I remember him coming in and saying, "Sara (that's my mom's name) don't get mad!" I went gaga over the little bitty baby kitty who was very cautiously exploring our kitchen and of course we got to keep her. I don't know if Princess was a totally appropriate name for her (as you'll see when you read on) but hey, I was a little girl.
She was never really a typical cat. She'd been abandoned (or lost, we're not sure) before she was weaned so she was always a little shorter and smaller than most normal sized house cats. And she was never really a loving, cuddly cat like some I have seen. I don't know if it's because she had abandonment issues with her mom or just because she had a wild streak, but she would be fine with you petting her one moment and the next she'd rip your hand open. She hated most men, especially my friend Brady - when he walked into our house she'd immediately start hissing and all the fur on her back would stand up. The only men she ever really tolerated were my great-grandpa, my dad and my husband.
She had a soft side too. When she was in the mood, she adored being petted. If you stopped, she would nudge your hand or stare you down until you started to pet her again. She liked to snuggle up in the crook of my arm when I was going to bed. When I moved out of my parent's house when I got married, Princess was very offended and it took her awhile to forgive me. But the last time I spent the night at my parent's house, I laid down to go to sleep and not five minutes later, I felt something fuzzy climbing across me and burying itself into the crook of my arm.