Member-only story
How much is that narcissist in the window?
This is my story of rescuing a cat. So, I am not much of a cat person. I love the feel of a soft, fluffy rug just as much as the next person. Especially when the fluffy gets all up into my nose and mouth. That’s the best right? Not. We had a couple cats when I was growing up. I don't have much of a recollection of them. They obviously did not leave much impression in my young brain or maybe I am subconsciously trying to block them out. We had a striped cat named Pepsi and a Siamese named Diablo. My youngest memory was of my mother pulling a kitten off my neck as I slept. It was sucking on my curls at the nape of my neck, and I remember feeling that gross sticky wetness. Another nice memory was of watching one of our cats give birth behind a couch. I was probably five and it wasn't a pretty sight there, I’ll tell you. I think I got an early lesson on afterbirth right then. I do remember my mom finding a splotch of dried blood behind the couch awhile later and cursing up a storm. That was the best part. Now, I love animals, but I just never paid much attention to cats in general. I suppose because they always want attention but seem to give nothing in return. I mean I like a good massage too but at least I would wink and nod for recognition. You are lucky if a cat even looks at you if you massage it! I always liked doggies more because at least they shower you with kisses while you pet them. Every…
