1. Mays, female, all gray, short haired, named after one of the greatest baseball players of all time, Willie Mays.
2. Bonds, female, all black, short haired, named after the one and only, Barry Bonds.
3. Cain, male, all orange, long haired, named after the first San Francisco Giant pitcher to pitch a perfect game, Matt Cain.
It is certainly no coincidence that my cats are not only named after San Francisco Giant players but also have San Francisco Giant colored coats. I love my cats. I love baseball. I love the Giants. Sue me. While I love all my cats and think they are all beautiful, one stands out to the be the fairest of them all, Cain. He has the sweetest, most loving, most innocent teeny tiny kitten face I have ever seen. He has the fluffiest, softest, most perfect orange fur that just begs you to touch him. Pet him. Grab him. Hug him. I saved my sweet-faced little boy when he was four weeks from a self involved cunt and a bratty ill behaved 2 year old. Coming from that home, I COMPLETELY understand his inability to trust. And there, right there, in that simple little statement is the root of all my problems.
I fell in love with Cain from the moment I laid eyes on him. I knew he came from a bad home. I knew he was damaged. But when I saw that perfectly, delicious, whipped up little ball of orange creamsicle colored fur, he had to be mine. I took him, confident that with enough love...with enough time...that he would one day learn to love and trust me in return. At first, I won him over by giving him kitten formula (yes, there really is such a thing as formula for kittens). Every morning when I woke up and every evening when I came home, I'd pour my sweet little handsome man a bowl of kitten formula. At first he was skeptical, not really sure if it was all trap. But over time he learned to relax. He learned that I just wanted to care for him, be good to him, to love him. Within a matter of days he started to let me pet him while he ate. Total. Breakthrough. As he became stronger and healthier I stopped giving him the formula. Immediately, I was back at square one. If I walked in his direction or hell, if I just walked around in the room, he'd stand to attention and bolt like an illegal crossing the border to another room. I didn't push. I didn't pursue. I understood he needed space, so I gave it to him. I'd only talk to him from afar, sweetly complimenting him or softly asking him how his day had gone. Eventually, he no longer bolted at the sound of my voice. In fact he started coming up to me wanting to be petted. Alas, love indeed did conquer all! Or so I thought.
As much as I love my handsome little man, I have come to the realization that Cain is *sigh* well, an asshole. True to his male DNA, he wants to be loved, on his terms. It always goes down the same way, he gives me just enough attention to get me to love on him and pet him but as soon as I want more and go to hug him, the little fucker runs. Just to come back around again for me to pet him, all on his terms. The other day, after repeatedly pulling his bullshit on me, I decided to call him out on his bad behavior. I sat up and looked him square in his big brown caramel colored eyes, poking him in the chest, asking him why was he so unwilling to let me love him. How, after everything I do for him, how could he be so damn distant? I explained that I simply just want to love him. I asked him why it was so fucking hard for him to factor me into his fucking little life in any real way. I begged him to tell me how or what I needed to do for him to love me...because whatever it is, I'm in this...I'm committed...I'm willing to do whatever he wants, all he has to do is just tell me. After pleading with him I hit a low. I let my hurt turn into frustration and I resorted to name calling. I called him every fucking name in the book...mother fucker, cock tease, son of a bitch....you name it, I said it. And after all that, do you know what he did? After running the gamet of emotions...?? He just sat there. All fluffy and soft and orange purring and meowing ever so lovingly while looking at me like he didn't understand where all of this was coming from...almost as if, to insinuate that I was making it all up in my head. So I sat there, stone walled, defeated, empty only for that little mother fucker to come up and rub up on me as if everything was ok. And you know what I did? I petted him. Yeah, I petted that little shit until he had enough and ran away.
Even my relationship with my male cat is dysfunctional.
Peace, Love & Baseball,
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