My cat is awesome.
Your cat might suck.
But mine is freaking awesome.
I’m a bonafide animal person. I’m the person who will go to a party, spot the furbaby and spend the rest of the night cuddling it.
I’m also the person that will fuck your life up if you hurt a furbaby.
I once made hubby chase down a car who PURPOSELY swerved to hit a cat running across the road. When we pulled up next to him( rancid piece of human excrement!) I took a ton of pics of him, his car, his equally rancid passengers and post it on the Abu Dhabi police site. I hope he rots in jail!
*We doubled back to look for the cat. Kitty was fine. A bit scared but fine. She was trying to get to her babies. 😽
I grew up with rescue animals. My parents did not once turn us down when we brought a sick, hurt or abused animal to their door.
My first memory of a dog we had was a black Basenji mix called Bimbo. He was gorgeous – sleek black coat with the tell-tale curl in his tail.
He was a neighbor’s dog, but when my mom saw said neighbour beating Bimbo with a hose pipe, she marched over, threatened to call the police on the sick fuck and scooped the then 6 month old Bimbo up. He stayed with us until he died of old age.
Growing up we had many animals: chickens, hamsters, dogs, but never cats. One aunt had cats and we snickered behind her back and called the “Befokte Kat Vrou”!
Once I married and moved out, I started looking for a four -legged beastie to become my own bestie. When Lester came along, I fell in love.
His owner was leaving Dubai for good and couldn’t afford the fees to take Lester with him. He was heartbroken to leave him but my enamoured face must have convinced him! 🐶
Nevermind that he was the size of a small horse, ate like an actual horse and shat massive piles of turds everywhere, once I looked into those goofy brown eyes I was smitten.
When he was diagnosed with cancer two years later, my heart shattered into a million pieces. The choice to euthanize was the hardest thing I’d ever done.
After Lester Pester, I struggled to find my new furbaby love.
I even tried pet-sitting for a while but that made it harder. Having to hand the furbaby back to it’s family was soul destroying.
I kind of went off furbabies after that.
Until a colleague told me about a kitten she’d found outside her door one day. He’d been run over, kicked, suffered a broken pelvis and needed multiple surgeries and would I consider taking him since her cat was a madam and being a total bitch?!
Tough sell, huh?
Nope. I said yes first, told hubby and G after, and the very next day a very tired, scared kitty joined Casa De Londt.
He had been seen to by a vet (my colleague had blessedly taken care of the major hurts) but that still left us with a very frightened kitty.
The first three months were the toughest. He was really good at hide- and- seek. We found him under the laptop on my desk, in my workout basket, in G’s toy chest…one time we thought he’d gotten out of the flat.
We’d spied a very similar cat outside at the dumpster. Immediately we shot off with the cat carrier and chased that poor cat through all the allies and car parks. He got away and I was just about ready to die.
As we forlornly walked back inside we heard a plaintive meow, from G’s upper bunk bed. Since she didn’t use it (except for sleepovers) and it was pretty much storage for her huge stuffed animal collection, Gingy had made himself a cozy bed and of course was wonderfully camouflaged!
We felt like idiots. I wonder what that cat we’d chased must have thought!😹
Things improved once we got him a bed of his own, some toys, and a climbing frame. During the day he’d stay hidden but we’d hear the bells on the frame tinkle at night as he climbed up to the top.
We’ve had Ginger for about two years now. He’s as much a part of the family as G and hubby are. I wouldn’t consider giving one of them up, so for sure not Gingy.
Here’s why he’s the bestest:
- Despite the hurt humans have inflicted on him, he still trusts us. He’s made me question my own trust issues and whether or not I can try, just try, to follow his lead.
- He knows when to leave me alone and when to be close. In a way he’s perfect like that. No,”What’s wrong with you?”, conversations need happen with Gingy.
- He likes laps, any laps. But mine in particular. If I’m not around he’ll settle, but he’s a connoisseur of fine lappage.
- He has great bedside manners. Once I broke my ankle. Ginger was here night and day while I healed.
- He misses me when I leave. He does his level best to let me know he doesn’t approve. Suitcases have been clawed. ‘Nuff said! I now get hard shells.
- He gives the best kitty kisses and let’s G love him even if she’s a bit much sometimes. Like when she insists on picking him up!
- He loves the bling. His 200 dirham Swarovski collar? He wears it with pride. Clearly my spirit animal…😻
- He sometimes forgets how to cat. And he doesn’t care. All out of fucks to give.
- He out stares the best of them. Don’t forget to fill the water dish. Ever. He will find you ( yes, especially in the loo!) and make you refill it!
- He’s tamed the hardest heart in our house. Hubby is allergic. He can’t stand kitty dander. Yet, here he is…
There’s nothing quite like a furbaby’s love.
So please, do me, Ginger and Lester ( RIP Big Boy!) a favour? #AdoptDontShop. We promise you won’t be sorry.
Got a furbaby? Show me some love and post a pic in the comments?
Until next I blog,