Baby cat, it’s cold outside.

It’s in the 20s and 30s in Austin. Just a few days ago, it was in the 80s. I’m lounging on the sofa covered in a faux fur throw, a pot of Bolognese simmering on the stove. (Less than 2 hours to go!) Sadie is napping on the green silk chair.

Is the bolognese done yet?

Is the Bolognese done yet?

Sally is doing the rolly pollies on the dining rug.

No, I'm not currently using the rug as a scratching post.

No, I’m not currently using the rug as a scratching post.

Sophie is upstairs in her room snoozing on the hand-crocheted blanket on her sofa.

imageOr at least she was until I attempted to photograph her, at which point she got up, went for a quick scratch, and refused to pose further.

You may photograph my hind quarters. That is all.

You may photograph my hind quarters. That is all.

Damn, the paparazzi. Always intruding on my naps.

Damn, the paparazzi. Always intruding on my naps.

This time last year, Sophia hadn’t yet appeared on my doorstep. This time last year, the temperatures hadn’t yet reached freezing. Thank goodness she was lost last year.

Later, I’ll lie on her sofa, and she’ll jump up immediately, meowing and trilling repeatedly, until she settles herself on my belly. She’ll lie there, purring and drooling, as I tell her what a lucky little cat she is. No hiding from storms or the cold. Or dogs. No scrounging in the trash for food. No matted fur. No protruding bones. No resorting to rubbing against bushes for petting.

This holiday season, she lives in a warm house with all the tuna she can eat (Whole Foods pole caught albacore, no salt added). She has her own room with a sofa, sheepskin, blanket, and jungle gym.  She has two not-so-wicked-after-all stepsisters who’ve all but stopped hissing at her. They’ve even allowed her onto the two-legged mama cat’s bed. She’s got a clean litter box all to herself that is scooped twice daily. And she gets to lie on her mama’s tummy every night, purring and drooling to her heart’s content.

I can’t help but think in these freezing temperatures what Sophie would have done had I not found her. How she would have fared on her own. But I did find her. Or rather, she found me. She gave me something good to focus on in the midst of all my grief. She warmed my heart. And I warmed her paws.

About Unconfirmed Bachelorette

Unconfirmed Bachelorette, a/k/a Ella, is a 50-something-year-old lawyer who wishes fervently she could retire from the practice of law and write full time. Never-married-childfree Ella resides in Austin, Texas with her three fluffy black rescue cats.
This entry was posted in Cats, Death and Grief, Sophie and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Baby cat, it’s cold outside.

  1. ryeder says:

    I would enjoy 30 degree temps….yesterday when I went out it was a chilly minus 22…right now it’s minus 9…..

    Like

  2. Christine says:

    Oh this made me cry! Especially the part about resorting to rub in against bushes for pets 😦 I am so glad she found you and have really enjoyed following her story. Much love for the kitties!

    Like

    • Thank you, Christine! When she’d rub up against the bushes, I’d say, ‘”Why are you rubbing against that prickly bush? Come here and let me pet you.” She’d look at me and meow, but still rub against the bush. It took her months to work up the courage to allow me to pet her. Now. she can’t get enough.

      Like

  3. franhunne4u says:

    Men never feel the cold …
    But we do – and reading about you four warms my heart.

    Like

  4. Lafemmeroar says:

    This post gave me the warm and fuzzes. I’m glad the two of you found each other. It feels so good to love and care for another “being.” It’s what being alive is all about.

    Like

  5. Geraldine says:

    Wishing you a magical Christmas season and all the good things in 2014! 🙂

    Like

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