My mom just sent me a picture of my dad from a few years before he died. Next to his leg is this cat we used to have growing up named Lady.
It just reminded me of how strange Lady’s relationship with my dad was. She lived to be about 18 - she died about a year after my dad did. But for the first, oh, 15 years of her life, she DETESTED my dad. She never really liked anyone, but my dad was at the bottom of whatever her list of people she would tolerate. If he walked into the room, she would leave. If he said her name, she bolted. He ADORED cats; melted like putty when he saw them, and she would only ever give him the cold shoulder.
Then, two years before he died, a switch flipped. I don’t know what happened, but suddenly she COULD NOT GET ENOUGH OF HIM. It wasn’t just that she wanted to be near him. She would rub up against him, back and forth, tickling him with her long fur. She would meow until he gave her attention. If he said anything CLOSE to her name, she would get excited and meow loudly while smacking him with her paw until he gave her attention, and he had to keep it up for like 20 minutes.
It got to the point he sometimes had to lock her in the bathroom just to get a break from her. I don’t know what kind of pheromone he started letting off those last two years but Lady was ALL FOR IT. I would ask him what he did to cause the change and he would go, “I DON’T KNOW! She’s old; she’s trying to get into heaven!”
It got to the point where I would sit next to him and say her name just to get her attention, because I knew she would think he had done it and come racing over for his attention. Whenever I did it, he would just put his head in his hands and sigh, “no don’t…I just got her calmed down…damn it.”
I still remember after he died, we left for the wake. When we got home, we found huge clumps of fur Lady had lost, all over the house. She mourned for him. She lined his shoes up in the hall and rubbed up against them all night, yowling for him. She never got over losing him.
I think of this now because in the picture, my brother has just gotten back from boot camp and Lady is clearly glaring at him, sitting next to my dad, like “what are you doing so close to MY person?”
My dad never figured out what he did to flip that switch in her, but she went from “I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire” to the kind of single-minded devotion that, in people, often leads to restraining orders.
Real life musings - Dean and our fearless (crazy cat lady) Reader - imagine moving into the bunker and Dean meeting your cat.
“What….what the fuck is that?”
“A cat?? The hell do you think it is? A goddamn raccoon?
*thwak* No eye rolling, jerk. You know what this is.“
“Yes but- Why is it here?”
“We’re kind of a package deal? His name is Pooter. He’s just about my only friend. Well, except for the baristas at Starbucks that remember my order. You won’t even notice him.”
“Oh no. No no. Wait, did you just - is his name seriously Pooter? Why would you….no. Never mind. No dogs for Sammy. No cats for you. Nope. No.”
Two days later…
“You two look comfortable. I thought you said no cats in the bed, Winchester.”
“Don’t judge our relationship. He’s soft.”
**the humble author apologizes for her brief Mary Sue moment, as she has a cat named pooter. yes, he is named after the cat in the house bunny. and yes, he is fucking awesome. your humble author simply used the name because it was amusing. heh heh heh. pooter. please insert in the name of your cat, dog, hamster at will. author out. xoxo, you all are amazing.***