18 years

I am a pet person. I will talk about my cat to anyone who will listen (willingly or otherwise) and find a way to make any conversation, however irrelevant, applicable to a story about my cat (i.e. “oh you think it’s going to rain, that reminds me this thing my cat did one time…” etc.).

I long ago came to terms with the fact that not everyone is an animal person, and that talking about your cat can sometimes be construed as weird. I’m ok with that.

Last week was her 18th birthday. Approximately. My cat and her siblings were born to a stray who lived on a farm and according to my great-aunt, they were born in July. When we became adopters of said kittens, my sister and I, at the ages of 3 and 6 respectively, decided it was Very Important to know the cats’ birthday because how else would we celebrate it? Through a Very Official process we decided that their birthdays were July 1st, and my parents humored us by going along with it.

Because she lives with my parents, for most of the year I don’t see her. The picture of her here is one of my favorites, despite the fact that you can’t really see her and the picture isn’t all that great. I took this a few years ago on a weekend home from college, and it’s what I see when I visualize home; the front door, and my cat.

Happy (belated) birthday, friend.

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