Happy Gotcha Day

Two years ago I made the track out to Coldstream at the edge of the Yarra Valley. COVID was just kicking in, but this was before all of the masking and real lockdowns and curfews and 5 kilometre radii limits. Before we all started to hate the four walls of our living rooms. 

I'd seen you on Cat Tinder and fell in love. 

I mean how can anybody not fall in love with those big yellow eyes and that wet, black nose and that look of utter vulnerability? And okay, they got your breed wrong, because of course, there should be no mistaking that you're a Small House Panther and not a Domestic Short Hair. And Reggie couldn't be your real name (besides, my grandfather was a Reg - I'm not having a cat named after my Grandpa). And black cats are the hardest to re-home thanks to superstition. Being a witch, I see no problem having a black familiar.)

So we met. You were a bit reticent, but you didn't hate me. According to the staff at Animal Aid, you'd been there a few months. You were good at letting your displeasure known and you weren't venting it with me. You were quite calm about me. 

So some time later, you were bundled into the cat carrier and we made the long journey home. I look you on a limited adoption to see how it would all go. If you weren't happy after a fortnight, I could bring you back. 

On arriving home, we found out the following: 

• You don't jump up on the kitchen benches
• You're unfailingly clean
• You're a tidy eater
• You love to jump
• And you're not adverse to making your presence felt.

On that first night you came up to me, jumped up onto my shoulder and started to purr. Of your own volition. You were letting me know you were home. 

That first night, you slept curled up behind my knees. The deal was sealed. I paid for your permanent adoption the next day. 

Two years on, you're still home. You're a funny little arsehole. 

You have the best derp face. 

Two years on, when I join you on the bed for a cuddle, you now purr. You let me rub your tummy too, though I'll get  kangaroo kick after 10 seconds or so. You love when I cook. Raw chicken sends you positively loopy. You don't like it when I go out for the day. You give the most wonderful cuddles when I get home, settling on my chest, screwing up your eyes and purring - for no more than two minute, but these cuddles mean a lot. 

You get stroppy when I don't make your bed. You love talking to the birds from the windowsill. You never ask to go out the front door. 

Basically, you're the love of my life. 

Happy Gotcha Day, Lucifer Reginald Morningstar Goose-Boy.

Thank you for letting me be your Mum, Reg. 

Today's song: