my little shadow
I went to bed early on the night that my cat Bug became part of the family. We were planning on waking up extra early to begin a road trip down to Kentucky to visit family, and it'd be a long drive, so for once I was trying to be responsible about my sleep so it'd be easier to wake up and prepare to get going in the morning.
At some point I woke up to chatter from my sister's room next to mine. I opened her door and immediately, heard intense skittering among shouts of "CLOSE THE DOOR" from the whole rest of my family at once. So, I shut it, and once the skittering stopped, I was allowed in.
And there was this slim, lanky kitten. All black except for a couple white spots his chest--like a bow tie--and his armpits. My mom and sister had heard him yowling on an evening dog walk, chased him through neighbors' backyards, and lured him out of someone's garage with a can of what was probably tuna. Inside our home they brought him.
The plan, originally, was that all four members of my immediate family would go on this road trip, but with this kitten's health being the way it was--he was cold, scared, and famished--mom decided to stay home and take care of him with the rest of our pets while my dad, sister, and I went on our visit.
I insisted on calling this kitten Bug when we got home and determined we'd keep him. At the time, I was kind of obsessed with insects, and his fur reminded me of all sorts of beetles, but their names didn't quite roll off the tongue like "Bug" does. (My sister, in contrast, wanted to name him Oliver, or Olly, since the color of his eyes reminded her of olive oil. I'm glad "Bug" won out.)
For the past approx. 15 years, Bug has been my little shadow. He follows me all over the house, cuddles when he's cold, chats with me when I chat to him, sleeps on my head every night, and makes biscuits on my hair, stomach, or shoulders. He runs around the house like a monkey when he's excited. After he uses the litter box, he hoots in the basement before he gets the zoomies. He loves ham and shredded cheese. My husband and I do Kitchen Dances with him--whenever we're in the kitchen, Bug comes in, stretches up on my leg, and I'll lift him up, hold him so he can peek over my shoulder, and bounce around while half-whistling a little song. T does the same for him if Bug stretches onto his leg instead of mine.
Bug's partially-feral and a mutt, so he's pretty healthy despite his rough start in life. I guess only the strongest stray kittens live long enough to go off on their own, so he'd have to be pretty sturdy. Last year, he got diagnosed with arthritis. Up 'til then, he spent a lot of time curled on the bed, and T and I figured he was just old and getting tired. But once we got him on a monthly injection--solensia, if I'm spelling it right--he's been much more active and playful. It's worth every penny for his happiness and comfort, honestly.
Lately, Bug's also been diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and some sort of liver issue that might be due to the thyroid issues. Thank goodness he's easy to give a pill to, since I've got to feed him these tiny, pink pills twice a day. He doesn't bite or fuss, and doesn't even run away when he's done taking it.
I learned in a class I took last semester that academics commonly included their pets' names--especially cats--in acknowledgement sections of publications. I understand why. For the past few hours, I've been typing away at my thesis and researching, and Bug has kept me company with his cuddles, purrs, and soft fur. I'll assume he's been reading over my shoulder, so he's earned a name drop in the acknowledgement section of my thesis, and probably an honorary degree as well.
I won't deny that I'm a bit worried about his health lately; he's at that age where cats can suddenly get older by several years seemingly overnight. But his eyes are still bright, he's perky and active, he can still groom himself, and he's got a good appetite. That's probably why I'm dwelling enough on him to write this. With attention, proper care, and a bit of luck, I know he can thrive for several more years, though.
- Marc