Fitting in

Annabel is a cat.

That seems like such a direct and simple statement, yet all cats are different and Annabel is like no other cat I have ever had.

To be fair she is the first cat I've had that was not a young kitten when I brought her home. She is all cat.

On her own from before nine weeks, her first memories are probably of being locked, alone, in a cage facing a wall in the animal control center. Everything she knows about being a cat comes from some place inside of her.

After her first twelve weeks, since she knew no better and had no choice, she turned to me. Wrapped up in my large gray plush blanket I am the mother. Only when I am asleep does she come and cuddle up against me and even then mostly when she isn't feeling all that great. I can tell she cares for me, but she shows it by curling up between my feet on the foot of my recliner every so often. Or she will lie down touching my shoes, or paw my chair once in a while. Twice she let me hold her for a few minutes.

She has learned everything else by watching me intently as if trying to equate the things I do with the things she needs to learn. I brush my teeth and rinse my mouth under the faucet. She reaches out with one paw and scoops water into her mouth if I leave the faucet dripping. She eats only from her glass dishes and won't touch food on the floor. She will fetch her stuffed mice and return them to my shoes if she is in the mood, or chase the laser light around the room if I make it seem like a real animal. However, she knows full well I make it go, because when I stop, she comes to me to make it go again. If she spills her food, or gets litter off her rug, she will try and sweep it up with her foot.

There is a real little lion inside of her, but it is an accommodating little creature trying to fit in with the only family she knows and I appreciate that.