| Dear Family and Friends, I was in my kitchen minding my own business when the invasion happened, completely oblivious to what was taking place in the next room as I spun around the sweltering quarters adding a pinch of this and a pinch of that like I didn't have a care in the world. Thick, crimson spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove and even MORE sauce dotted my face, my hair, the kitchen floor and countertops like little red freckles. At first glance, my kitchen might appear as if an angry tornado swept through, but to the trained eye, it is merely Julia Child hard at work on her next gruesome concoction. My hands were busy destroying a few onions, flinging a carrot or two, manipulating spices and ingredients until they begged for mercy . . . the state of my kitchen serves as a reminder of why I only cook on "special occasions." I retreated slightly in order to remind myself to breath, tromping carefully through skins and puddles galore and bypassing my increasing "tomato graveyard" with a little prayer. It was when I breathed a sigh of relief and wiped my tepid brow that I caught something out of the corner of my eye . . . the slightest little movement in a usually stable apartment and I was off to investigate with confusion ramming forcefully into the back of my battered head. Before I could say "rakiya", a little gray head peeked around the corner at me from within the living room, its little yellow eyes bearing into me with total fortitude. "And just WHAT do you think YOU'RE doing?!" I questioned the thin stray cat with hands-on-hips determination. "How in the world did you get in here?! Don't you have the decency to at least KNOCK first?!" He stared at me bewildered (he must speak Bulgarian!) and I stared right back at him . . . two can play at this game! Finally, I gave in with a heavy sigh and a flip of my wrists as I approached the small cat. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" I asked him, rubbing his misshapen ears delicately. My mind began to wander amongst my past experiences with stray cats, dogs, ferrets, and iguanas, but I finally just shrugged and reached my fingers under the kitty's filthy chin. He purred like he's probably never purred before, a rusty motor engulfing his entire body as he boldly rubbed himself against my sauce-covered legs, his tail sticking straight into the air as if it were a sign of victory . . . either that, or a sign of surrender! It went on this way for a while, the night my home was invaded by the little stray kitty. I fed him a plate of spaghetti, which he engulfed with his entire head. And then, after he had a satisfied tummy and he had stolen all of the love and affection any stray cat could ever need or want, he left like a thief in the night. But, I knew I would see him again . . . The next morning began like any other morning . . . I awoke at, oh, one/two o'clock and helped myself to a glass of Coke, grimacing as I tripped through my disastrous kitchen. I went in and out of my bedroom at least 50 or 60 times, completely oblivious to any changes or additions . . . and then, he suddenly caught my eye once again. The little stray kitty lay snoring on the other twin bed in my bedroom. I gasped, he stretched languidly; I gritted my teeth, he opened his mouth in a tortured yawn; I shook my head in disgust, he rolled his head onto the pillow. "Hello . . ." I approached him. "Can I get you anything? Eggs? Bacon? Coffee? A LIFE?!!?" He looked at me with one eye, overcome by fatigue as his body language spoke of a fun-filled night on the town. "Meow?" he whimpered in an attempt to be left alone. "Oh, sure," I told him. "Make yourself at home . . . I'm not stopping you . . . but, just let me remind you my dear boy, I never asked for another kitty. That's the LAST thing I need right now!" A smile escaped my lips as he rolled onto his back and basked in kitty dreamland, with his dirty paws hanging straight up in the air. I never asked for another kitty, but that didn't stop me from buying my intruder some sausage later that day and keeping my balcony door opened for his admittance. This morning, a tiny meow awakened me when the old boy had returned from his nightly adventures. I peered at him through sleep-clouded eyes and rolled over, which he saw as an invitation to climb into bed with me and settle in for a day of contented snoozing. He's like a kitty vampire, coming home by day for some attention and whatever food I can toss in his skinny-little-direction, and he leaves by night to see what trouble he can cook up. He comes in as he pleases and totally makes himself at home, causing me to wonder what I'll do when I have to move again (which, by the way, I have to do since my ceiling leaks and my new apartment is covered in mold!). He is slowly trying to become a permanent fixture, while I never in my wildest dreams thought that I would be adopted by a little, stray Bulgarian kitty. Love and Miss You, Chantel |
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