Many years ago, back when Sevda and I lived at 32-Fiddy, we had a cat named Kitty.  To be very honest, I had a cat and Sevda pretended that he didn't exist.  And to be fair, Kitty pretended that Sevda didn't exist either.  They were nice to each other, mostly walking past each other without so much as a glance, which suited them both just fine.

Kitty loved me very much.  He would groom me a lot, licking and smacking on my hair, which was kind of gross but just his way.  He didn't like anyone else very much, and would hide near the door whenever he heard someone approaching.  When the unsuspecting visitor would enter our apartment, Kitty would jump out and sink his fangs into the person's legs.  Even if you knew he would be there, it was always an unpleasant shock.  I think it was just his way of saying "Get out".

Kitty had really long fur and it was tough to take care of.  No matter how much I brushed him, he would always get dreadlocks on his neck and the top of his back.  It looked much like a tumorous lump even though it was just hair.  Here's a picture of Kitty sitting on my neck as I worked on my first and last crocheting project (still unfinished, and now I've forgotten how to crochet).

One summer, I decided that I had reached the limit of my grooming skills and took Kitty to a fine pet grooming establishment.  I toured it first, noting that the place seemed to be very clean and the pets well cared for.  They assured me that they did not drug the pets in order to groom them properly, so I made an appointment for Kitty to have his dreads trimmed.  I brought Kitty in the next day, and came back a few hours later to pick him up.  But when I got there, I wasn't so sure that they were giving me the right pet.  Because the pet in my carrier looked like a rat and kept tipping over.


To the credit of those who love me, no one laughed at Kitty.  Probably because they felt it would be cruel considering how hard I was crying.  Also, you might feel a bit bad about yourself for laughing at a cat who kept stumbling around like he'd spent all afternoon drinking two-for-one Long Islands.

Side note: Kitty is still kicking around but now living at my friend Nicole's house.  He still has massive dreadlock issues and now grooms Nicole's hair.  And recently, he went missing for a few days, but later turned up when they heard him meowing from INSIDE A WALL that had been recently been built during some remodeling.  AND HE WAS FINE.  I think it's safe to say that from these two examples alone, Kitty has a maximum of seven lives left to live.