I believe I’m destined to be forced into wearing a rather gaudy accessory, one which promises to be exceptionally unflattering. Especially when I’m wearing a dress and heels. Wait, who am I kidding? That scenario only happens at weddings and funerals. But I digress…
What’s this accessory I’m referring to? A neck brace, that’s what. Now don’t get me wrong. I didn’t fall over the doggie gate (again) and wrench my pencil neck. No, it’s much worse; it seems my cat Tippi prefers to sleep across said neck every night, as opposed to snoozing in one of many pet beds spread about the house.
It’s my fault. I’m a big push-over, unwilling to insist my cat slumber on a body part impervious to suffocation. Owning a cat weighing the equivalent of a 10 lb. sack of sugar draped across one’s windpipe, is not exactly conducive to a restful night’s sleep. Consequently, I have a rather annoying neck kink.
As I’ve previously chronicled, ever since Tippi had her teeth removed, she’s an entirely different cat. She’s bursting with unadulterated love for me. To be honest, I’m still deciding if that’s a good thing. I’m beginning to feel, shall I say, smothered? Stalked? Adored beyond reason? Let’s just say all of the above, shall we?
Tippi was a feral cat when I caught her, along with 20 of her siblings. She always retained a bit of her feralness, hiding when friends came by. In fact, they doubted she even existed. She tolerated petting only for a fleeting moment, often giving me her typical glare that said, “Touch me again, woman, and you’ll most definitely regret it.”
I guess you could say Tippi wasn’t a bundle of sunshine wrapped in a sparkling pink bow. She was more independent and aloof, to put it politely. Okay, I’ll just say it. She was a bitch. Oh, those were the days…how I miss them so.
As time passed and Tippi’s feral side dissolved into more domestic traits, she developed a painful dental condition requiring all her pearly whites be removed. Once pain free and toothless, Tippi began shadowing my every move. Now we’re like horribly mismatched adjoined twins.
Gone are the days of showering without a tiny wet nose pressed against the glass door. God forbid Tippi lose sight of me for even a second. And forget about sitting without accommodating a feline lap-warmer or wrapping myself in a blanket void of multi-colored fur.
Even as I type this, Tippi is asleep across my left arm. I wish I could snap a better photo but nobody else in my house has opposable thumbs, so this shot will have to do.
I can’t say everything she does is annoying. The new and improved Tippi is often a welcomed relief from the old, but some days I reach my limit in the togetherness department. For instance, she’s a counter cruiser now so whenever I’m in the kitchen, she’s up on the counter. I take her off, she jumps back on. This goes on ad nauseam until I give in and accept the fact that I’ll probably have cat hair in my egg salad sandwich.
Just yesterday Tippi couldn’t resist rubbing against me while I made a latte, her tail knocking the glass of espresso across the counter. What a mess. But I admit I love it when she gives head butts, rubs her face across mine (like Eskimo kisses), or reaches up from my lap to gently touch my cheek with her paw. Those are the times I’m grateful she’s new and improved.
That sentiment may change, however, should I end up in that neck brace.