I’m not writing this to offend cat lovers. I have no business writing about cats since I don’t like cats. I got clawed when I was 6 years old. Me and cat’s don’t mix. Allergies.
But a reader recently asked me if I’ve “ever blogged about cats.”
No I haven’t and not until today…
Today marks the day 3 years ago I woke up and took this photo (Facebook comments cut out for privacy):
That was one of Davy’s cat.
My husband Davy owned two cats before he married me. The cats hated me. I believe they hated me because they were trained by Davy’s ex-girlfriend to hate me before they ever met me or they knew I disliked their kind to begin with, probably the latter.
Davy’s cats shed a lot and they were fat and old and diabetic. They were there before me but I didn’t care. And on this particular morning 3 years ago when I awoke and was greeted by that cat pictured above, I was terrified. According to Davy, who laughed at the photo, his cats never looked at anyone like that before. Ha.
Davy’s cats, who shall not be named, circled around above me ALL MORNING that morning and they kept following me from room to room on tops of cabinets and the fridge and bookshelves, etc. Davy’s feline beasts maintained height advantage over me and watched me like hawks. I felt like at any moment they’d swoop down and take my eyes out.
It’s like they knew…
Davy’s cats must have known that morning that Davy would propose to me on bended knee.
November 23, 2010.
It was exactly 6 months after Davy and I first laid eyes on each other in the Dominican Republic. Davy had remembered. He always remembers.
And he’ll never forget that on the day I said yes I also told him that his cats had to go (not right away but hours later after the proposal). I’m not a monster. Not only was I allergic to them but they were plotting my death. The pills I popped to help with allergies made me drowsy and I didn’t trust those cats while I was drugged up.
I was visiting Belgium for the 5th time in 6 months and spending Thanksgiving with Davy and not with my family in the States. His cats made me feel unwelcome to say the least, and so I told Davy to make a choice. Not really. I really did say the cats had to go.
This is where we get all the “exchange one pussy for another pussy” jokes…
So I returned to New York engaged. The next month Davy made the trip to New York, married me then we honeymooned, and I left New York behind for Belgium. The cats were gone when I got here. They went to a good home so calm down.
Davy chose me.
This morning instead of evils cats on Davy’s lap, there’s this little man:
So I don’t want to hear any shit after this blog about my not liking cats.
Davy, I love you and of course I’d say yes to you all over again.