About three years ago I started to notice a chubby tabby cat skulking around my apartment building. I’d see him every few months or so, sneaking around the cars in the parking lot, but whenever I’d try to get his attention, he’d just flash me a dirty look and walk away.
Then, one day I opened the apartment door and there he was, sitting in the hallway in front of me. He meowed and walked over, so I bent down and scratched his chin. When I stood up again, he walked passed me into the apartment like he owned the place.
So began our dysfunctional friendship.
Over the next few months I’d see him just once or twice a week. He’d scratch at my door or meow, so I’d feed him a spoonful of tuna and give him a kitty massage. I felt used, but loved.
Around this time last year he started to visit more often — eventually every day — and began to feel more like a member of our family.
I was starting to get attached, but he was so outgoing and sweet that I figured he must have lived with people at some point. I never saw him wear a collar, though, and he was always starved and covered in fleas. Maybe he’d just gone astray.
The time came to get him checked by a vet. I braced myself for potentially bad news — that he might be sick or microchipped and belong to someone else. Nope. It turned out he was perfectly healthy (except for worms) and didn’t have a microchip. My heart leapt! Tabs had officially become my cat.
I’ve known other cats, but none like Tabs. He still plays like a kitten, shows tons of affection and isn’t afraid of people at all. Sometimes, I feel like a proud stage mom when he’s complimented on his looks, LOL!
Yes, I fully embrace sounding like a crazy cat lady. Ain’t no shame in that game.
Your friendly neighborhood beauty addict,