There are two types of people in the world – those that like dogs, and those that like cats. I’ve always had my feet firmly in the dog-loving-camp; Mr Posy on the other hand has always been a cat-person.
The last (and only) time I had a cat was when I was 4 and we lived on a farm. The kitten attacked me, and I’ve been afraid of cats ever since. Bizarrely, the crazy rooster that used to attack Mum and me every morning didn’t leave the same emotional scar. I guess it’s not every day that you encounter a rooster.
Cats are spiteful little creatures. Sensing my dislike for them, they’d be sure to rub against my legs or perch themselves in my lap when I’d visit cat-ruling households. I’d be paralysed by fear, too scared to move, waiting for the cat’s next move, where it would surely slash me. I wasn’t just afraid of cats, I was terrified. A fear I didn’t share with a lot of people… “You’re afraid of cats?”, they’d question, incredulous. “Oh well, you know, I was attacked… by a pack of feral cats… when I was much smaller,” I’d mumble in reply.
Mr Posy has never pushed the issue of getting a cat. We have PosyDog, who is rather cat-like, so I figured that was a good compromise (considering I’d originally wanted a much larger dog, like a Boxer or a Shar Pei, but Mr Posy wasn’t a fan). Apparently, having a dog that has cat-like qualities (such as sleeping on the back of the lounge or on bookcases) is not the same thing as having a cat.
It all started back in February, when a friend, the lovely Miss B, sent me a picture message of a friend’s new kitty – a British Short Hair. “She’s gorgeous!” I exclaimed, “Don’t tell Mr Posy I said that…”. The seed had been sown.
A couple of months later we were out for dinner and drinks with these friends, where they later invited us back to their apartment for coffee and to meet their kitten. I could feel my anxiety rising, but too embarrassed to admit that I was scared of a kitten, we accepted the invitation.
Oh em gee.
The kitten was ridiculously cute.
Thanks to a few too many wines, I made the mistake of making the off-the-cuff remark that “I could handle a cat like that”. That was all Mr Posy needed to hear. I’d somehow agreed to a getting cat.
For months, I would curl up on the couch only to find Mr Posy researching kittens and breeders on the iPad. He was obsessed. I’d never seen him so excited about anything. Finally, he found a breeder with a little female lilac British Short Hair. “Yeah, okay, she’s pretty cute”, I reluctantly agreed.
This was how I found myself at the airport on a Saturday afternoon, a week ago, to collect a kitten.
“Do you want me to take her out of her crate, love?”, the very friendly attendant at the cargo delivery bay at the airport questioned. “Oh jeez no!” I exclaimed. I was terrified. I didn’t want to take her out of her crate. What if she scratched me? Even worse, what if she ran away? How would I explain that to Mr Posy (who was at work when the plane arrived from Melbourne)?
I got PosyKitty home, and out of her crate. She didn’t attack me. This was a good sign. PosyDog wanted to smell her butt – PosyKitty hissed at her. This was not a good sign. I started freaking out.
In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have expected PosyDog and PosyKitty to be best friends straight away. PosyKitty had just been taken away from her parents, shoved in a cage and put on a four hour flight, and then plucked out of her cage by somebody new (and equally terrified of her…) in a completely foreign destination.
I needn’t have worried. A week later and they’re completely smitten with each other.
As for me and PosyKitty… Well, I’m still constantly afraid that she’s going to turn on me (much to Mr Posy’s amusement), but she’s wormed her way into my heart. She follows me around everywhere (she even tried climbing into the shower with me), and snuggles into bed with me.
I still maintain that I’m not a cat-person. I’m just a PosyKitty-person.