I didn’t want a cat.
I’ve had cats before. I adore cats. I presently have two aged Dachsies, the long gone kidlings’ dogs, who I’m trying to see through to their last breath. I want to simplify my life for my upcoming travels.
Then I adopted an injured stray. This is not glamorous. No cute kitten hood. A hit and run damaged cat with a huge gash in her side. Starved. I healed her, fixed her, lots of trips to the vet, money spent, and then I fattened her up and offered her a life of soft cushions, kitty milk and all the kibble she could eat.
And what did she do? She left.
How could she do such a thing to me? After all I did for her?
Sounds like children to me. You raise them, care for them beyond all imagining, sweat and fret over them, spend your fortune…and if you have raised them properly the only option is for them to leave home.
Panza considers my home her home. She comes and goes at will. When she is home, she eats with gusto, purrs, cuddles, sleeps with me and is the cutest, coziest house cat ever. Then pouf, she disappears for a walk on the wild side.
Like children. They love us. They can’t live with us, but they can’t live without us. They want to come home, be fed beautifully, cared for, loved, and then they want to get away to their own lives.
Thank you Panza, you wild girl, for teaching me. I will love you when you’re home and love you when you’re gone.
P.S. Thanks Francie for making this a post.
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