She had loved that cat-a paper mached thing with its back arched and made of many colors. It held a prominent place in her cell at the prison. When the prison fell, she’d been too caught up in avoiding and then finding people to care about the cat. People you cared about were worth more than a flimsy statue any day.
Then there had be rapists and cannibals to worry about.
And then Alexandria, the herd and Carl.
She still felt a lump in her throat at the flashback of Carl falling amongst all those walkers.
But once their journey had quieted, she couldn’t help but think of that silly little cat. It had brought her good luck, a symbol of the start of her friendship with Carl. A symbol of the start of her love with Rick. Her family: Glenn. Maggie. Sasha.
She let it slip how much she missed it one day when Carl was doing physical therapy and Rick was lounging around the house. Carl had finally came back to them two weeks earlier and found his way back home in the last week.
“I actually liked that cat.” She’d tucked her robe closer as she heated up water for tea.
“Seriously?” Rick had tilted his head and given her an incredulous smile. His crooked teeth making him look more charming.
“It was ugly,” Carl had said, his ball bouncing against the wall with a steady thud.
“It was art,” she’d grounded out.
“Ugly art,” Rick chimed in.
Michonne had scowled. “I liked it and I miss it.”
The tea kettle had whistled and broken the conversation, keeping her from launching into a defense of the beautifully, ugly little creature. It was the only time anyone had brought it up.
Until Rick handed her an even uglier cat that he struggled not to bleed on.
She loved it immediately. Her hand kept flicking its springy tail and nuzzling its bulky head as they drove away from the trash heap.
She loved what it symbolized; the amount of care she continuously saw Rick take with their love and relationship. The days of only worrying about whether the solar panels were holding up or the crops were growing were over with Negan perched over their shoulders constantly yammering and batting people to death.
But Michonne knew this cat was one of those things she could bury in her heart and not have it taken. Not only the trash heapers were takers. Their whole world seemed to be taking.
Rick lifted her hand and gave it a gentle kiss.
Except Rick. Rick was a giver. Carl was a giver. Judith was a giver.
And the silly, ugly looking cats in her life were symbolic of that.