Things have slowed down, which is good for me and even better for the rate at which this blog can be updated. Anyway, first order of business, I am no longer alone in my apartment. World, say hello to my new, furry friend, Shelley!
She’s a little shy, but she can be playful, too. I decided to pick her up after talking to Sandy from the theater. I told her a little bit about myself and how I was having some trouble adjusting, and she suggested a pet. I thought that was a marvellous idea, and she took me to an animal shelter she knew. She’s such a considerate girl, that Sandy. But I digress, on to the shelter.
The shelter was full of animals, almost all abandoned by their owners. There were dogs left in basements, weasels and ferrets trapped in boxes, even kittens left to drown. It tugged at my heartstrings, every one of them, and I was finding it hard to choose between any them. Until I saw Shelley.
She was beautiful, tawny and spry. A kitten would be too much for me, I realized. I don’t think I’d be able to give it the kind of love it would need while growing. Shelley was an older cat, a few years old, actually, and they’d picked her up from a vet who’d seen her on the street. You can’t really see it in the picture, but Shelley’s whole backside is scarred and her forward leg is missing, either from a fight or a car or whatever misfortune might have befallen the poor creature, and they were forced to amputate to save her life.
I had no choice but to take her wit h me. She was two months away from being put down, and really, I see much of myself in the creature. Heh, the creature. She had no one, and certainly no one else was going to adopt her with so many other kittens and puppies to choose from. I filled out the papers without a moment’s hesitation and Shelley was mine. After living out in this world, she deserves some measure of love.
The one thing I didn’t like was the name. Shelley just sounds so… blasé. The name wasn’t my first choice, but it was the name the staff gave to her, so it stuck. Far be it from me to dictate the identity of another.
Oh, pardon me, but please don’t take this as an invitation to try and pry into my personal life. My “father” was neither the most loving or the most and the more I think about it the more I realize he was a terrible man. I suppose living in a patriarchal society it’s seen as somewhat taboo to declare outright hate of a parent, but I am past caring. I renounced that life when I came here, and that’s the last I’ll say of the matter.
Getting back to the point at hand, I really should thank you all. If it weren’t for your kind and encouraging words, I might never have had the courage to do as much as I have. It seems that every day better things keep happening, I almost dread the next day for fear of what might reduce these days to halcyon equivalents.
But to end this on a high note, here’s a picture of Shelley’s face after I gave her some catnip.