First of all, Gina was not my cat. She was Melba’s, my landlady. She waited a month after her other cat, Chester had died. He was 15.
Melba was 85 at the time. I was her tenant. We met at a senior center. I once mentioned needing a new place to live. Although I didn’t tell her, I was living out of my car. Her dementia was noticeable then; however, after being with her for nearly two years, her condition considerably worsened.
We saw Gina’s picture in an ad on Craigslist. We made the arrangements and met outside a Target and made the transaction.
Again, Melba paid for and wanted to have a kitten. On the drive home The Baby as Melba would continue to call her was on her lap.
I’ve been told that cats pick their owner. So imagine my surprise as I roll over in bed later that night, there’s Gina. Twice that night, I had to stop myself from rolling on to her.
It did not sit well with Melba that The Baby slept with me the first night. So, the next night, Melba moved a litter box, water, and a food dish into her room before she went to bed. That only lasted one night.
Melba complained the next day that The Baby had kept her up most of the night.
And she moved out the litterbox and dishes.
We came up with Gina because Melba wanted to name her Jean from her middle name. I didn’t care for that. It just didn’t seem to roll off my tongue. I suggested Gina seeing how phonetically it encompassed her name.
Not that it mattered. Gina was always The Baby to Melba. Mainly due to dementia. I asked her once did she knew Gina’s name and she came up with a blank look. After that there was no need for me to bring it up again.
Gina was Melba’s cat in name only. I took care of both. I shopped, cooked, and took care of their medication. And Gina knew what time it was and who her Daddy was.
She got locked out of the house once. Prior to this, we never let her out because she wasn’t fixed yet. My bedroom faced the rear of the house, while Melba mainly sat in the front. I hear this racket outside my window. It’s Gina trying to claw her way into my bedroom.
First of all, I was wondering how she got out. Second, I was amazed that she knew where to find my room from the outside.
She created a sizable hole in that screen. From that point on, especially after she got her bikini wax, I’d leave the window partially open so she could come and go as she pleased.
I don’t really recall when her idiopathic aggression began. I’ve always been around cats, and I like to watch Jackson Galaxy, so I knew what it was. It seemed like I got the brunt. Most times, I could see it coming. Her eyes would dilate, and she’d flatten her ears. She wasn’t declawed, and more than once, she’d kick my ass. As I write this two years later, I can still see faded scratches on my legs.
That was when I could see her coming.
I mentioned that ironically, I was her favorite. She’d show her affection by taking my face in between her paws and lick me. Yeah, that part sounds sweet but simultaneously she’s digging her claws into my face and moves her paws like she’s steering a car.
And this is how she shows her love for me. Lucky, I guess.
More times than I can count, she’d attack my head. I felt claws and once her mouth. To ward these off I usually threw a blanket over my head. She’d jump the covers a few times and would eventually walk off.
The vet we saw said that maybe she was taken from her mother too soon. She recommended a necklace that was supposed to soothe her. Naw, it didn’t. Plus, by this time, Gina was coming and going, so she’d lose a lot of necklaces and flea collars.
So, I bought one of those medicated collars, cut it up in quarters, and placed them around the house. I also bought a plug in.
None of this stuff worked and none of this was cheap.
After all that, I came to use two things. Three if you count cursing. Since I would throw a cover over my head for the night assaults, I would throw a towel over her. Whatever I had nearby. A shirt. A pillow. All I had to do was drape it once, and she’d get the message. That’s not to say that she wouldn’t make at least two attempts. If she were having an especially bad day—like saying coming from the vet—I’d have to grab her by the scruff and hold her slightly askew so she wouldn’t claw me and put her outside. I’d also shut her “window” so she couldn’t get back in. I’d open the window maybe an hour or so later or if I heard her trying to come in.
I won’t say Melba got off scot-free. Compared to me, hell yes. In the mornings, when Gina would hear Melba get up, Gina would run and, from what I understand, would assault Melba’s feet as she walked. Along with dementia, Melba suffered maladies accustomed to seniors, such as arthritis. That being said, she didn’t walk fast, so Gina had a field day. I’d lay in my bed and chuckle as I heard Melba chastise her.
I didn’t really get up and look ’cause, hey—it’s your cat.
I never had any kids [no jokes, please, about ones I didn’t know], but I can imagine how a parent can love someone who can be a pain and an irritant.
As Melba’s dementia intensified and it was becoming obvious that I wanted to move but couldn’t leave her in a lurch Patti, Melba’s housekeeper began to plant a seed with Melba. “Y’know, that cat’s so independent I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she ups and leaves.”
By this time, I was waiting for Melba’s son to put her in a care facility. Patti came once every four weeks. She knew I was getting ready to leave so she had me put Gina in her carrier and she took Gina to the ARL.
I wasn’t overtly mad at Patti, but I wasn’t happy with her. She did this on her own accord. Granted, Gina was Melba’s cat, but I was taking care of her. As half mad as I was with Gina, I wasn’t ready to let her go. Just yet.
And don’t kid yourself. If I knew that I wouldn’t be living in a car, I would have taken her.
I’ve posted pictures of Gina on Facebook. I still have an old Android phone with a cracked face with pictures of her on it. It’s the only reason why I kept it.
I am a veteran who was born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa. I have self-published The People Downstairs Are Killers, have published a short story with Men Matters Online Journal and have an upcoming nonfiction piece to be published by Wilderness Literary Journal in April. I also have several works at Smashwords.