Kitties, I love you

Dear Pussycats,
Today I will discuss my long history and love of cats, specifically Netflix the cat. 

When I was a very young girl all I ever wanted was a tiny cat of my own. I would run around our strawberry farm all the time pretending I had a feline companion that was accompanied by a trio of tiny imaginary mice. I'd even leave bowls of water and tiny treats out, but I quickly learned imaginary pets just wouldn't cut it. 

Then one beautiful day my mom and dad brought home the ultimate present, Lilly, aka the sweetest cat ever. Lilly was a soft grey tiny thing with baby blue eyes and a purr that sounded like a talking doll that had been left in the rain. 

When we played together she would never scratch me, nor did she show any visual signs of distress when I would keep her in a love-chokehold, (because as a 5-year-old, I actually didn't know any better). I loved her so much, I would even wear my hair in tiny lop-sided pigtails to match her soft, speckily grey kitty ears. She became my first best friend. 

Then one very sad day, I came home from school to find out Lilly was hit by a minivan. I was devastated, I felt like my tiny heart was ran over by Tonka truck. Without the emotional support of Lilly how was I going to make it through my exhausting first year in school (I've been an anxious hotness since pre-K).

My dad knew the best way to stop four little girls from crying, was to distract them something with something new and equally fuzzy. He brought home two new cats, Tahi and Moana, and while they were beautifully exotic with caramel striped coats and piercing emerald eyes, they were feral and instantly hated us. I tried to play and become their den mother, but they were not having it. These cats are documented as my first haters ever - there was no reason for them to not like me, but they refused to, (I also know they were totally taking shit about me behind my back...RUDE).

A year and many cat scratches later, we moved away from the farm, and within our first few months living on Oahu the cats packed up their tiny rucksacks full of catnip and loose sweater threads and ran away, to never be seen again. This time I was not as devastated. These cats were so scary and evil, when they were locked inside their cages, they figured out how to open the crate from the inside out by shoving their scary paws through the cage door and opening the lock with their claws! Despite the fact that they were pure evil, I still had an empty place in my heart. All I wanted was a very sweet kitten to call my own, damnit! The kitten gods were against me!

When I was 7 years old my mom surprised us with news that we could get a cat at our local Humane Society. This was just about as exciting as when N*Sync dropped their "No Strings Attached" album. The deal was sweetened when we realized they were having a two for one deal going on, which means we got two cats, meaning 8 fuzzy paws to hold!

Baby-me was thinking, "f*ck yeah, this is the dream!" We picked one brown kitten and a black kitten both with hazel green eyes and marble stripes. The brown kitten was named "Julia", which we instantly decided was a really lame name for a cat, and the other didn't have a name. We quickly changed "Julia" to "Pickles" and we decided the other one would be called "Roxy."

As the cats grew up and grew into their personalities Pickles quickly became a crowd favorite. She was fat, she'd always sit directly on whatever homework I was working on, and her fat rolls would cover the entire perimeter of my textbook. She let us put hats on her and slip off our beds in slow-motion sliding on our comforters, it was so funny.

Roxy on the other hand was thin and prickly and she didn't even bother to play with us. To make a proper analogy Pickles was kinda like John Goodman and Roxy was like John Waters, except they were both female.

Then the cat gods were against me again when one morning about 4 years later, I woke up and my parents told me that Pickles had a heart attack cause she was too fat and had passed away that morning.

I got down on my knees right there and yelled to the heavens with my tiny fists up in the air "THE WRONG CAT DIED!"

Flash forward a few years, Roxy and I lived like awkward roommates, she would do her thing and ignore me with this awkward Elephant in the room sort of vibe. I just wanted to yell at her "WHAT'S YOUR DAMAGE ROXY?"

While I was living in the dorms Roxy got accustomed to lying on my bed and basically told me that it was her domain, but that she guessed we could "share" it.  Every time I'd have my computer out to watch Netflix she would casually come by and rub her face, entire body and tail against the sides of my computer, like that old school nokia game Snake, and ask me what I was watching with her blinky hazel eyes.

I looked over at her lil face peeking over my macbook and I looked into those piercing bullet eyes and thought, "I will call you Netflix and I will have you as my own."

And with the name-change came an absolute personality change too. We went from awkward acquaintances to absolute homies, rolling catnip blunts and ghost riding the whip around my neighborhood, aka watching hours and hours of shitty TLC reality TV shows and weird documentaries cuddling.

Now that I'm away I miss that stupid little furball more than I ever thought I would. Netflix has taught me that it's never too late to change your impression of someone. It took me about 13 years to learn to love her, but in true Beauty and the Beast fashion she eventually won me over.

While I've quickly adopted my adorable boyfriend's adorable cat Cookie, Netflix will always be my main bitch.

Life's too short to hold grudges pussycats, and your former mortal enemy could easily be your homie. So believe in yourself and do the right thing, okay?
And that is the tail of Netflix the Cat. (Gah ha ha)


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