In this world, there are cat people and there are dog
people. Our youngest daughter is a cat person. And if cats and dogs can be person
specific, our cat is definitely a Lizzy cat.
From the very first day I brought Hugo home, she was his
person. He was a 12-week-old kitten and she a 6-year-old girl. She walked into
the bedroom where he was curled up on the bed. He took one look at her, got up
and walked right over to her.
My husband cringed the first time Lizzy announced that Hugo
was her “cat boyfriend.”
Whenever the cat is missing, he is inevitably found in Lizzy’s
room, either curled up under the covers, on the bean bag chair or sitting in an
empty toy bin. Once we found him in the toy chest, sleeping amongst all the
Webkins and stuffed animals.
The floor of her bedroom is covered with clothes, Legos,
stuffed animals and the various knick knacks that make up a 10-year-old’s life.
There is always something of interest going on in her room that Hugo must be a
part of.
And Lizzy is merciless in her play with him. She dressed him
in doll clothes. (He didn’t like that). She would hold him against his will,
suffering him to her kisses and favorite TV shows. (He would loudly meow in
protest and glare at the rest of us.)
One day I walked into her bedroom to find him squeezed into
the tiny animal carrier that came with her toy veterinarian kit. He was a
patient in her care.
“Does he like it in there,” I asked.
“No,” she answered matter of factly, as she poked him
through the cage side with her stethoscope.
Now, four years later, she merely decorates him with hair
bows around his neck. (He tolerates that.)
Yet, he always comes back to her.
He calls to her from the other room, wanting to play with a
cat toy or peacock feather. He sits outside the bathroom door, meowing to be let in
while she takes a shower. He can be found almost every night, curled up on her bed at
her side.