Or a schmaltzy piece of crap.
Sadie the feral cat. I’m a bit in love with her. Just a bit. She showed up so unexpectedly. Never, ever thought I’d commit to any-one-thing and then one day a gray slip of fuzz showed up, hungry and wanting nothing more that something in her belly. Gave it to her; I had a need too, the need to feel I was contributing, doing something, that I was a part of life outside of cable television.
Then I wanted her to go away. And I stole her baby.
But she kept coming around. She just seemed lost. Like me. Looking for someone to know she was lost. Too. So I feed her, at least. Acknowledged her.
One night right before bed, something somewhere somehow told me to open the front door, undo the deadbolt and see what was on the other side. There she was, 19 degrees below and sitting on the stoop, basically delirious and almost dead. Just waiting. For. Me.
Made her a bed that night and she took to it with little hesitation. She knew it could save her. Or maybe she just wanted to be warm, didn't matter. I did it anyway.
She's glorious really, with eyes that see me like few have.
Now she climbs into bed, sleeps on the pillow. There’s little that feels as wonderful as curling up together. Never really knew that before.
She takes me exactly as I am in the moment. I’ve fallen for her a little bit, and all she did was show up at my door one day.
And I noticed.