Me ‘n Bone

I called him a douchebag.  A brat.  A little snot.  He was the worst cat I ever adopted.  I read articles about male ginger tabbies and how horrid they were.

He would purr and then haul off and take flesh from my hand, my leg, my butt.  He would splay out in marmalade grandeur, his green eyes slanted and content, his body in a relaxed sleep.  Then he would awaken and attack Jenny Annie Dots for no reason, the mildest, kindest, most feminine Persian female I have ever owned.  And Jenny has little, useless teeth.  Her pathetic claws do no harm.  She has been the mother of 35 kittens. She is a beautiful, warm, door-stop.

I work at home. I have a separate office where I see my patients and clients.  So, someone is always here.  T Bone can climb up and hang on the door jam and regard the people, looking for his next victim.  Sometimes he purrs, sometimes he bites.  He will go for weeks curling up next to me as I sleep, then go for months hiding somewhere in the house, not to be found.

Last Sunday I was gone for 13 hours.  I went to a Seminar at LAX.  I returned home after being gone for over ½ a full day.

That night, as I went to sleep, T Bone was unusually obnoxious, meowing and jumping around.  Jenny was asleep, as usual, on her little bed, next to my pillow.  T Bone paced and howled and wouldn’t settle. So, I put him outside the bedroom at 11:00 p.m.

At 12:10 a.m., the sliding door between the living room and hallway began to shake and rattle.  It was T Bone’s paw.  But not only did T Bone knock on the door – relentlessly – he howled.  A jarring, pathetic wail.  This went on for over one hour.

So, I took the water bottle and prepared to chase him away.  T Bone hates water. He is terrified of water.  If he even sees the spray bottle, he runs.  When I put his flea medicine on his neck, about the size of a pencil eraser, he looks so wounded and upset I could have castrated him without anesthesia again and again.  He is terrified of water.

So…I opened the sliding door and showed him the water bottle.  He squinted his eyes and kept howling.  I squirted him.  He squinted and crouched down.  He started to walk toward the bedroom.  I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed.  I sprayed water.  On T Bone.  Wet, nasty, furious, T Bone was nearly crawling on his belly like a reptile as he slunk toward the bedroom.

I was incredulous.  How could it be that the now-drenched cat, his eyes ridiculously squinty, take the abuse like a soldier?

T Bone continued to march-slink toward the bedroom.

T Bone was now getting screamed at, drenched, and abused so horridly I ceased to care and threw the empty plastic bottle at him.  He ducked.  He literally ducked.

Then he jumped on the bed and settled in his spot.  He looked wretched.  He looked like he had been through a terrible storm.

T Bone slept through the night in the wet spot.  He was soaking wet, but quiet.

In the morning, T Bone would not move from his spot on the bed until he was sure I fully understood his resolve.  When he saw that I finally understood him, and I finally DID understand him, I sat down close to him and cried.  I told him that I got it, that I was sorry, and that I realized that his personality was his personality.  I had forgotten, for a brief while, that I was his mommy and he was my baby, and no matter what he did, I would always love him and would never, ever, shut him out again.  I told him that he seemed so independent I had forgot he needed me, that I would never forget again, and that I would never leave him for so long again.

T Bone got up, yawned, stretched, gave me a little nip on my hand, and went to his food.

T Bone continues to walk around and between my feet in the most irritating manner.  He howls and cries and bites and purrs and chases Jenny until I am beside myself with worry that he will kill her in a moment of biological forgetting.  He gets on my clients and patients and my heart is in my throat as I try not to think of liability insurance and lawsuits.

And me and the Bone?  Well, we are fine.  I won’t forget again, no matter how obnoxious I perceive my baby to be.  I won’t forget again, no matter how things seem.

I just won’t forget.  I won’t forget my Bone again.