This past week America celebrated a 'long-standing' tradition: National Cat Day. I say this with some sarcasm, as it seems that every day we are celebrating a different day, but come on, it's cat day.
Now before I get to sound even crazier than I am, I must admit I am not a cat person. In fact, I don't really like cats, especially other peoples cats. That being said, I do love my little Murphy.
Years ago I was living in the Old Market in downtown Omaha, and I really wanted to get a dog. Against my better judgment I was highly considering it. I even went as far as contacting a dog rescue organization to set up a home visit. When I finally came to my senses, and I realized that I wasn't home much, I decided against it.
So, as I sit here writing this blog post, yours truly (Murphy) is still on my lap, and making it almost impossible to type.
He's 5, I think. Six tops. (Okay, I don't really remember, but I have his papers upstairs somewhere in my file cabinet). I just remember getting scolded this summer at the vet's office for not throwing him a party.
Murphy is a Persian, and one of the most beautiful cats I have ever seen. (This is really not helping my case that I am not a crazy cat person). Funny enough, I was actually added to this email group at work years ago for 'cat lovers.' I never responded to any emails, or added anything to the conversations, but I also never removed myself.
This cat has been on quite a journey with me (three apartments, one rental house, and the past three years in my own home). He survived a puppy and over the past three years has developed a friendship with Abbey (she will be mentioned in a future blog post).
So, as I sit here with Murphy, I am reminded of the cat I got when I wanted a dog, but one that has been such a calming influence on my life. He might shed on my black pants when he insists on laying on them, chew the corners of books, and occasionally bite, but I love this flat-faced little fur ball.
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