Tuesday, March 17, 2015

The Exodus of Kitty

When I was about 9, my parents let me get a kitten. Her owners were standing outside of Winagers in Roy and giving away the litter. I picked a small black one and named her Abby. She was sweet, but a little a wild.
The black spot is the back of Nick's head
as he waves goodbye.
A few weeks later, at my youngest brother's birthday party, my aunt picked up Abby and looked at me like I was nuts. "This cat is a boy, dipshit." Just kidding. She didn't say that. But! It was a boy. We promptly renamed him Diablo, since his favorite activities seemed to be biting, clawing, drinking from hoses and chasing the neighborhood dogs.

His wild side couldn't be contained and shortly after we got him, he ran away. To sow his wild oats, go adventuring or whatever.

A few months later, I convinced my parents to let me try again. It was September, and I remember my mom picking me up from school so that we could go search the pounds. We went three days in a row and I still couldn't find the right kitten for me. I wanted one that looked exactly like Diablo, all black. But, this time an actual girl.

At the end of the third day, we found her. She was sitting in the drop box outside of the pound. I always thought it was so nice that she never actually had to go in the pound, she was just waiting outside for me.

On the way home, I named her Babybelle. Since, Diablo's nickname was always Baby, I thought I would skip the extra step and just name her Baby. But, I never called her this. We all, very originally, took to calling her Kitty. Kitty became her official name when a couple of years ago my brother's wife said, "Whose Babybelle?" If after almost ten years Lindy didn't know that Kitty was Babybelle, then Kitty was probably just ... Kitty.

For the last 15 years, Kitty has lived at my parents, ruling their backyard. She had her heyday, where she brought in all sorts of creatures and set them free in the house. She even brought a bird in once and left it to fly around the living room. I still vividly remember Nick, about 8, in his underwear, screaming and fluttering at the top of the stairs, "Kitty's got a bird! Kitty's got a bird!"

She developed rivalries with other cats and more importantly my Dad. After years of doing battle, he scares her when she walks in the house, she poops on him while he sleeps, Kitty was finally banished from the house. She quickly went from an inside cat, living the life of luxury, to an outside cat with a bed in the garage.

When I moved back last year, I knew that the next time I left I would be taking her with me. As Nick put it so eloquently, "There's no way mom and dad are letting you leave without taking Kitty."

Last night, we officially moved her into the new place. She's nervous and has spent the majority of her time hiding underneath the chaise, but she is adjusting more quickly than I thought she would. I bribe her with soft food to move things along.

It is officially starting. Boyfriend, me, Kitty. Adventures.

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