Yesterday I listened to somebody talking about getting a kitten and all the rules and restrictions that that kitten will have to learn to live with. It worked with the dog after all, the soon to be cat trainer said.
I only smiled.
Yes, I admit that I smiled broadly with that knowing twinkle in my eyes.
I found HRH in a plastic bag eleven years ago. She was the only one still alive. As small as my left hand. Blue eyes. No teeth yet. She crawled up on my arm and nibbled my earlobe. A little furball, so vulnerable, so sweet, trusting me I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, believing I’d keep her safe from harm.
I don’t know when the “aww” sounds started, but I believe they were there right from the start.
I fed her cat’s milk in the beginning. Out of the bottle. Even was careful that it wasn't too hot, but just the right temperature, checked it on the inside of my lower arm, you know.
She was happy and sated after that and she sat there, on the table, facing me. HRH, aka Mimi, crawled up my arm and snuggled against my neck, where she fell happily asleep, her tiny, round tummy being rubbed. She’s always had that deep purr, a loud sound, infinitely soothing, warming your heart, making you smile.
Are you “aww”-ing already?
When it was time to go to bed there was no question (on her side) that she snuggled up in the hollow where my neck meets my shoulders. She’s been sleeping there ever since. Of course, when she grew older and bigger, I had difficulties to breathe from time to time.
The Princess has gotten old. I guess we’ll still have three to six years together.
She’s developed rigid rituals that I must adhere to come hell or high water. Rituals that entail, for example, my correct sleeping position. Since I could make her understand that sleeping on my neck and thereby depriving me of much needed oxygen isn’t in her interest either, we settled into another routine. Whenever I lie down I need to lie on my left side so that she can snuggle up to me, stretching her fore-paws over my left hand (at my left cheek) while I have to rub her tummy (she’s especially fond of that). Or whenever she feels the need for an extra tummy rub in the night she steps on my hair on the pillow to make sure I’m awake to do her bidding. Or whenever she thinks I’ve typed enough for a day, she jumps up on the desk and lies down on my lower arms, pushing the keyboard from me with her hind paws.
“Aww”, huh?
But all those rituals above are just a tiny part of why I’m her most loved subject. The real reason why she’s so glad that she has me is that I cook for her. I don’t cook for myself or if I do, only a small meal in between. But for her... Well, let me just say I go to great lengths to make my feline mistress happy. She’s suffering from Asthma, in addition to that from hay fever from April-August and her kidneys aren’t the best any longer, so she needs that little bit of extra attention.
Mimi’s favorite is Chicken on Oats with egg vol-au-vent:
Ingredients: ½ chicken, 2 small orange carrots, 1 small yellow carrot, 1/8 celery, 1 stem of parsley, a small piece of horseradish, 10 tbsp oats, 1 egg
Put chicken into a pot. Add vegetables. Add water until the chicken and vegetables are covered. Cook for 2 hours. Put oats into a small pan and put some of the chicken soup to it. Let it boil softly for another 30 minutes. Meanwhile cut the chicken meat into small pieces. Put them in a pot and fill up just enough chicken soup that the meat pieces are covered. When the oats are a thick, sticky mass, add the egg with a whisk. Put the oats with egg into the pot with meat, heat it for a moment then cool to serve. This gourmet meal will keep your cat happy and not hungry – we all know your cat is always hungry because you never give her anything decent to eat – for three days (or less – if your cat weighs more than 13 pounds).
You probably now splutter that something like this could never happen to you. You’d never cook for your cat. She’s just a pet after all.
And you know what? I’m smiling. Knowingly, secretively.
Do you want to know how I came to be a most devoted slave to HRH?
One look was enough.
The Puss-in-Boots look. All slaves to feline masters know it. All react to it the same way. We coo “aww”. Let me know if you need other recipes. I’ve got plenty to share.
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