Cats: You Learn To Love Them

In Personal on February 18, 2012 at 16:07
This is a first– I have a pet cat.
I really am more of a woof than a meow. Ever since I was a kid, I liked dogs more than cats. The idea of getting a pet cat never really appealed to me due to the impression they cast on me that they are bitches. They’re more of a bitch than a female canine. *ba dum tss* In fact, why do we even refer to dogs as bitches when cats fit the description so much better? And then you ask, then why get a cat?

This is Gibby; 2 months old.

I did not get Gibby from a pet store nor did I pick her up from the animal shelter. My cousin and I found her on the rainy night of January 8 this year. It was a Sunday; (we went to church in the afternoon and after watched Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol) it was night-time already and it was drizzling when we heard meowing from the dark side of the sidewalk and there we saw her. She was cold and alone so we decided to take her in at least for the night.

I actually do not know what made me decide to take her in knowing that I’m not usually the type of person to rescue animals, and a cat at that. What’s funny is that I had not thought twice on bringing her in. I saw her alone, looked at her for a couple of seconds, immediately picked her up, and continued to walk home.  It felt like picking up my clothes from the laundry shop knowing those are mine.

I took her in my room, turned on the lights, and there I got a good look at her. She’s a tabby– a tabby covered in dirt and, I must warn you because it’s gross, her own poop. I was forced to give her a quick warm bath even though she’s just, I’m guessing, 4-weeks old. She was shivering when I took her out of the bathroom. Her eyes got big and I saw that she has these beautiful, big, round, blue eyes. The photo does not show it any more, but they were blue, especially in dim lighting. It turned kind of green now that she’s growing. I still hope her eye color could stay blue, though.

I got a shoe box for her to sleep in.  A Gibi shoe box, actually, hence her name: Gibby. Her name is pronounced with the g-sound of the word ‘give’, though.

I know, I told myself I’ll keep her for the night only. But I saw her still so little to be let alone so I compromised with myself that when she’s big enough and healthy enough, then I will give her out. Yet again, at this rate, when I’m already growing fond of her, the idea of giving her away is not going to be an option any more.  She keeps me company especially when I heavily miss my mom and my two younger brothers all the way in Switzerland. I’m learning to love cats, well, at least this cat. I love her. Any bad thing to happen to her, I just might  cry. I think she is God-sent.  Even though she gets overly active and begins to playfully scratch and bite at times that it gets annoying, I still think God sent her for a purpose.


That awkward moment when it’s been seven months already and all this time you thought your pet cat’s a she.

Gibby is, well what do you know, a male kitty. Turns out, that furry bulge near its ass is not some kind of cat hemorrhoid– those are just his full-grown cat balls.

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