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Bitten, Part 3


May 6, 2011 by wcobserver

After only once or twice, this became exactly what she screamed for. What could be better on a cold spring morning than a lovely episode of petting, lying next to surrogate mom warm under the covers? Her purring became a refined art, a whole body experience that flowed from her throat and vibrated off the walls of the room.

The bed trembled with the intensity of her purring. Soon the husband would throw back the covers and stalk from the room, cursing the cat and me with it.

I developed a different game plan. As soon as Baby Kitten came screaming to the bedside, I would slip out of bed, swoop her up in one hand, and hurry to the kitchen, petting her profusely in order to stifle any further vocalization. At the food bowls, I would put a fresh handful of crunchies into the bowl, pointing out to her that nothing could be better than fresh crunchies. She would sniff the offering, not sure if she was willing to be bought off so easily, but then usually she would indulge me in my effort by taking at least two or three of the things to her teeth. With her so occupied, I could sometimes sneak back to bed and sleep a bit longer before she would have finished her petit dejeuner, completely groomed herself, and be back at the bedside screaming for her by-now-required morning pet.

The husband left three months later, much to everyone’s relief.Baby Kitten became Bitten, a stately young adult female cat who demanded and received the attention she so richly deserved, considering her traumatic childhood. She groomed herself meticulously, never allowing a burr or matt or other embarrassment to mar her immaculate thick coat.  She memorized the routines of the house, always willing to spare some time in her schedule to supervise the more important household activities, such as cooking dinner (sit on the cabinet), doing laundry (lie on the clean clothes), help make up the beds (run under the sheets as they flop over the mattress), and watch TV (stretch out on the back of the couch directly behind my head and vibrate with purring).But her biggest chore and the one she executed with utter dedication and virtuosity was the bringing of food. Warm fresh food. To me. In the middle of the night, which everyone knows is the best time to hunt. (To be continued)

Denele Pitts Campbell is a writer, restauranteur, and businesswoman. She lives in the Mineral Springs community near West Fork.



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