Me and Him

I have always suspected that Reynaldo ended up in my life for a reason. That he's here to teach me something. I mean, I've had cats my whole life and never had one that demanded the interaction with me he does. (Wilma, the skinny calico who lived with me when I was in my late-20s, came close. She had a thyroid condition and her motor just ran too fast for her tiny body. But she was smarter than Reynaldo and could amuse herself as she raced around my little apartment. I could tell by the look on her face if she was pretending to be predator or prey.)

I adopted him from a shelter. I took the role. I accepted the responsibility. He gives me his trust and affection. In exchange, I will honor my commitment to providing a forever home. We will be together as long as he is healthy and painfree. We will work this out.

I'm reading a wonderful book right now called Cat Daddy by Animal Planet's Jackson Galaxy (My Cat from Hell). It's about "an emotionally and physically broken cat named Benny" ... and how they "cohealed, and refused to let each other live broken ever after.” Like Marley and Me, the book about the world's worst dog, reading about how Galaxy adapted to Benny and what he learned about himself in the process is a help.

This evening wasn't so bad. We played for about half an hour when he started howling and that diffused the cat bomb a bit. And one of the great things about keeping this blog is that I'm able to look back on our earlier days together. This is who Rey is. He brings nature -- a little of the undomesticated -- into my home. And I'm learning to respect that.