It’s the cutest little story ever! (said the storyteller in her fake, high-pitched, Deep South accent) Jack was moving into his apartment and unbeknownst to him, sometime during the day a tiny, orange kitten snuck into the house. Oh, how we all laughed when, in the first blush of dating, he told me how the kitten jumped on him in the night and became part of the family. Just adorable. So adorable I vowed to survive my allergies and deal with the cat after the wedding learn to live with the cat.
Even funnier were the stories of how the now not-so-little cat took a dislike to this interloper and tried to kill me the first year of our marriage by slowly creeping up my body in the night, working his way towards sleeping on my face and suffocating me. Oh how we all laughed. Again. And again.
I eventually quit sneezing and the little darling continued to stick around. He stuck around when we tore the roof off the house and moved in with the in laws. He stuck with us through two cross-country moves and three local moves. He refused to leave even after the addition of three wee and then not-so-wee members of the family. He outlasted countless comings and goings of other tolerated treasured pets.
But I win! unfortunately, age, ill-health and the swimming pool finally got the best of Bubba. He survived us for 16+ years. I won’t pretend I’m gonna miss him much, but I would wonder how Sherlock Holmes felt after Professor Moriarty was killed if having a really not-so-bright cat as an arch-nemesis wasn’t so lame.