Mistress Maggie

My sweet Mama Cat is old.It's clear to me that she is not this cat anymore. But then again, I'm not the cat I once was, either.

Since Mr. K. left us, the Mistress has been relegated to living outside. Ultimately, she peed one too many times outside her litter box and I finally realized that she lived long enough as an indoor cat. Sadly, I became one of those people whose pet(s) is relegated to second class citizen upon the birth - okay, I'll admit it - conception - of a human child.

There are days that I revel in the fact that we will someday be a pet free family. I'm over the stray cats in the neighborhood spraying on my front door because the Mistress sleeps on the porch and they want her food. The smell of fresh cat piss does nothing for me. Actually, it never has. But, there are days that I really miss our past relationship.

I miss the days in our one bedroom apartment that I played throw the ball against the wall and she would run from the other room to catch it in mid-air. Or the times that she caught a fly between her paws above her head. Or how she would come running when I'd say "Maggie, Spiiiiiiiiderrrrr" and then pounce and gobble up whatever was crawling on the wall. Even, when Wood and I were first dating and I explained to him that if he didn't make it clear whose bed it was, by kicking her off of it, that she would forever sleep on his feet.

Nevertheless, I am torn.

About three days after Twig was born, all I wanted to do was cuddle up with my kitties - as if nothing had changed. But, everything has changed.

I miss cuddling up with my kitty under the covers in the chill of a cold spring night. And yet, her shriveled, flea covered, matted fur, emaciated body is difficult to touch, especially when the faint scent of kitty pee overtakes me.

Hey Old Lady, you're old. I know you're not going to be with me forever. We have always had a tumultuous relationship. You're a super big fat pain in my ass - on so many levels - but I love you. Hopefully the depths of which you know.