Sunday, November 20, 2011
Every day for the past three weeks, I have woken up at 5:00am. Every single day, except for the one that was 4:45.
Internet, meet Pi. Pi has jaunty ears, a furry wee face, a passion for snuggling, and meow that sounds like a little bird chirp. She doesn't sleep.
Several weeks ago, a friend of mine found Pi and her stray siblings and mother near where she works. She brought them home but her brother, who she lives with, said No. No more cats. Four is enough. We don't need five more.
A few days later, I was over and suggested that the one without a name be called Pi. "Want to keep her?" asked my friend.
Of course not. A preposterous idea. I have no room for a cat. Besides, I'm not home during the day and I could well be leaving the country in another year. I don't even know how to raise a cat. A week or so later, I went over for dinner and came home with an armful of fur. I've hardly slept since.
Pi has sprouted a round little belly in the past week or so. She doesn't hide anymore when I play the piano.
She knows that she will be told off for climbing up the curtains, clawing at my clothes and leaping onto my desk, but she joyfully does these things anyway. She knows the sound of the food bag and lets out the most pitiful of meows whenever I stand by the kitchen counter. She likes to play soccer and loves helping me sweep the floor. She's such a punk.
A punk who is currently lying on my bed, flat on her back with her head on the pillow, watching me. Every day when I come home, she runs to the door bleating. I scoop her up and hold her up against my shoulder like a baby, and she turns into a seeping puddle of love and nuzzles her face into my neck. It's the best part of my day.
One of the best part of hers too, I think. Though it doesn't beat that moment, in the hour before sunrise, when she can adopt an expression of manic glee and catapult herself onto my face.