I love animals. I have two ferrets, two cats, and a young fahaka puffer. I was so heartbroken when my last fahaka puffer fish died while in the process of moving into a new apartment that I cried for days. I put his healthy sized body in a finely crafted satin jewelry box, which then served as his casket, and my husband and I gave him a burial. I cried then, too.
While I adore each of my pets equally, there is one whose personality commands more attention than the others. That would be Moby, my yellow-and-white rescue. He is named Moby because my husband already had a rescue cat named Starbuck. We figured that we could be perceived as slightly intellectual for having animals named after characters in a Herman Melville book, but also immature when we inevitably find ourselves yelling, “Moby, you dick!” when he grows up and knocks things off counters.
He was a starved, sickly little kitten. No one at the clinic expected him to survive. Alas, never underestimate the healing power of gravy wet food to my little Moby’s appetite.
He was three pounds then, bleeding from the nose, unable to jump, and walking bow legged. He is fourteen pounds now, still a clumsy jumper, and still walks slightly bow legged in the back. Moby is a talker, constantly responding to conversation with loud meows, howls, yowls, and weird grumbling noises. In fact, Moby hardly sounds like a cat most of the time.
He plays fetch. He freaks out about his auto feeder. He is afraid of the ferrets, but never lifts a paw to them. He prefers to sleep on his back and let it all hang out. He demands cuddles, pets, and conveniently places his large body in front of my computer screen while I am involved in intense dragon battles in Skyrim. Despite what some say about dressing cats up, Moby does not mind wearing costumes–apparently because the attention he receives while dressed as Boba Fett overrides any nervousness of wearing people-clothes. Best of all, Moby loves everyone.
Oh, and he loves to sleep on, or extremely near me when I am sleeping. It is not uncommon to wake up with him on my chest, rendering me unable to move, or with him on my head and his tail on my face.
This is not unusual for cat owners, though. I think we have all had trouble sleeping at some point thanks to our feline housemates. Some cats sing the song of their people at night, or paw at their human’s face until they wake up. Some are like Moby, and would be content just laying on your face all night for comfort.
So, I have been taking selfies of myself and my cat each time I wake up with him invading my personal space to document my life with my cat. As you can see, Moby doesn’t care what state of unfabulousness I am in.
Even when you have days you wake up finding it hard to love yourself, just remember, Moby loves you.