Call me crazy, but when I typed ‘What do you call someone who loves their pet more than anything else in the world’ into Google I expected to find at least one word that would fill the definition. Perhaps I didn’t word it correctly? Or maybe I do love my cat a little bit too much?
But lets be honest, who doesn’t want a best friend, of almost 15 years, who never argues with you, never moans, always listens and is always there for a cuddle?
A week before my 5th birthday in 1998, my parents took me to the RSPCA rescue centre where I was allowed to pick a kitten to take home. We were told there were only two kittens available and my choice was between, as my mum described, “one beautiful grey fluffy kitten, who wouldn’t stop licking me and asking for cuddles”, and “one tabby, angry cat, who kept hissing at us and wouldn’t even come over to say hello”. So I obviously picked the latter.
I named him Bubble, and here we are 14 years, and 364 days later, the best of friends. Bubble doesn’t really like people, or attention, unless it’s from me. And I know that’s a very conceited statement but if you don’t believe me, pop over for an afternoon and I’ll be very happy to prove it to you.
Bubble will greet me at the door and follow me wherever I go, whether it be to make my dinner or watch me have a wee. Obviously when he was younger he had a lot better things to do, pimping. But now he’s a bit of a granddad, would rather a night in front of the tele than chasing pussy.
Obviously being at University has proved difficult and I always worry that one day, because of his age, I’ll come home and he won’t remember who I am. But he continues to prove me wrong.
I could sit here for hours sharing my love for bubble, but I’m finding It’s hard to write about him without sounding like an absolute freak. Plus Lewis will get jealous if I write more about my cat than I wrote about him.
Tomorrow Bubble is 15, and I would loose an arm and a leg for him to live forever.