My boyfriend’s parents have a cat named Teddy who is, in my opinion, absolutely the best cat in the world. My aunt and uncle’s cats are a close second, but Teddy is my kind of cat because a) she’s fat and fluffy, b) she lets you pet her tummy, and c) she’s not afraid of people and loves to sit in your lap for hours. She’s very un-catlike in that way. Every time I would come to their house I’d dote over the cat. So Alice, David’s mom, told me that if something ever happened to her that Teddy would go to me because I evidently cared more about her than the rest of the family. So Teddy is my godcat. And I am her godmother.
That very night that she was bequeathed to me, Alice had an acute gallbladder attack which put her through a lot of pain. One of the first things she said was, “I didn’t think Kathleen would get the cat so quickly!”
So anyway, I’ve been emotionally invested in this cat for awhile now. Last week, Alice informed me that Teddy is sick. She isn’t eating well anymore, and she is breathing funny. After a series of x-rays, they are pretty sure that she has cancer in two places, one of those being the liver, which is never a good sign. The family had to go out of town for a few days, and Alice didn’t want Teddy to be alone so I’ve taken on another house-sitting assignment. Teddy is looking good so far, although she still isn’t eating much, and she’s no longer as fat. I just hope nothing happens to her while they’re gone.
Last night as I was going to sleep Teddy laid down by my feet. A couple of hours later she padded her way up to my chest where she snuggled herself in and I put my arm around her. She purred and I fell asleep happily. I love this cat.
