We Don't Like Perfect People

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Meet Punky.

She’s not your normal cat.

She is my cat.

Punky was raised by Oreo, despite Oreo’s best attempts to have nothing whatsoever to do with that upstart kitten who dared to nuzzle all over her face and purr.

We’re not sure Punky thinks she’s a dog, but we’re pretty sure she doesn’t think she’s a cat.

She likes to chase her tail.  When guests come over, instead of hiding, she jumps into their laps.  She doesn’t mind being turned upside-down, cradled like a baby, or poked repeatedly.  She comes when called.  She licks people a lot.

She’s afraid of my fake beard and my pink gorilla suit.

Halloween 2009 was my personal best.

Not much else fazes her, except for falling in the bath.

Oh, and the reindeer cat hat I purchased for her this Christmas.  She didn’t like that either.

My friends tease me for going home on the weekends, especially when I tell them that it’s to see my cat.  I mean, I love my family and all, but I can deal with seeing them, like, once a month.  I miss Punky.

She’s beeyoutiful.  Even though she has a fat, saggy belly that swings like a church bell when she runs.

When the other girls who live on my residence hall talk about how many kids they want to have someday, I talk about how many cats I want.  (No more than five, with a dog or two for good measure.  I fully plan to be a crazy cat lady.)

But I know there will never be another one quite like Punky.

Written by Estie

March 2, 2010 at 11:53 pm

Posted in Me, Not College

Tagged with , ,

One Response

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  1. “A fat, saggy belly that swings like a church bell when she runs.” Now THAT is good imagery. 🙂

    Literary Dreamer

    March 3, 2010 at 1:25 am

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