My Angel

He came into my life at 8 weeks old. He had a big black nose, black ears, black tail, black paws. He was white everywhere else. I was looking at his littermate, who looked like a guardian cat I had when I lived in Europe. (To explain, I used to take long walks in a graveyard near my house at night when in France. He would walk me home and make sure nothing hurt me.)
I had a name picked out for the little calico girl. Lupe, after my guardian. But she would have nothing to do with me. She snubbed me from her little cage. My mom encouraged me to look at the others.
He brushed his face against the bars. As if to say, please look at me.
His brother was running around, which caught my brother's interest.
"Pick him!" he said, of the hyper gray cat.
Again, he brushed his head against the bars.
"Hi." I said, finally acknowledging the siamese kitten.
His head cocked to the side.
I had always wanted a cat, but my parents never allowed it. It was only now that I was 17, and diagnosed with PTSD that my mother felt it would be in my best interest to have a cat to take my mind off everything. I had spent a week waiting for the adoption fair at PetSmart.
He was the only siamese in the litter. I had wanted a kitty that would meow, and I heard they were talkers.
"Hi little guy." I put a finger through the bars and he rubbed his face against it. My heart melted.
"This one! Mom. This one." I said. She nodded.
"Whichever one sweetie."
She started on the paperwork as I spoke to him.
"Wanna come home with me?"
"Do you wanna hold him?" One of the employees asked.
"Can...can I?"
"Of course." she said, unlocking the cage. I held him for the first time.
He was so small. His little purr was so quiet. But he loved me.
"Hi Hendrix." I whispered.
I had a long going obsession with the "27 club", Jimi Hendrix being one of the main members. He brushed his head all over me. After a few minutes I put him back in his cage, while my mom bought the necessary cat supplies. A woman came by and began talking to my cat. Even taking pictures. He looked at her and then at me, as if trying to tell her "No I have my mom already."
We left with him that day. He mewed all the way home. Once we got there he walked around the whole house, played with everything. He was only 3 pounds.
It's been a little over a year now. He's saved me. I've seriously considered suicide 5 times in the past year. Each time stopped by him. His cute face. His sweet smile when we go to McDonalds or on walks on his harness.
Every time I feel sick, sad, or hurt, he's right beside me. And hes always nice to everyone unless I dont feel good. Then he hisses when they come near me. He's my protector. My best friend.
Vincent Hendrix. Vincent from Pulp Fiction. My favorite movie.
As I type this he is curled on my bed. Brown fur, everywhere. Except his paws, his ears, his tail, his butt, and his face. Bright blue eyes.
12 pounds.
The only thing bad about my baby boy is that someday he wont be around. That will be hard. I dont know what I will do then.
I'm so glad he picked me. That he knew his mommy from a crowd of people. Im so lucky.
Smalllsk Smalllsk
1 Response Jan 15, 2013


thank you