Way back in 1998, I was preparing for my first marriage at the (very) young age of almost-21. I had been living with my mother and stepdad far away, and was moving back to Mississippi to live in a three bedroom trailer in a tiny town.
The trailer was situated about 50 yards from the church where my then-fiance was a Youth Minister.
All I could think about was living so far from civilization, and missing the cats in my Mum's house. I found a sweet male white kitten, whom I named Zachariah, and packed him up to make the long drive to my new home. When I got to Mississippi, right before the wedding, I went to a small vets office and inside they had a kitten.
She had been born with 4 other kittens and within 24 hours of her birth her mother, and all of her littermates, died. She was but 3 weeks old, a tiny thing, and I just had to scoop her up and bring her home with me to our tiny trailer.
I named her Bathsheba, my itty-bitty baby girl. She quickly learned to sleep under my chin, or curled up at my breastbone under my covers. She's been with me through nine moves, three pregnancies, two sons, two weddings, one divorce, and a multitude of job changes.
She's over 16 pounds at this point, but still tries to curl up on my chest, or hide under the covers with her fuzzy head on my pillow next to my own.
She's an indoor cat, who sneaks out when the door is left open (and then brings fleas back in!) so we have to watch her carefully.
Bathsheba is the most loyal animal I've ever seen. She truly knows I am her Mummy, and will quickly let you know she is as human as any daughter in the world.
She's my delight. She's heard more of my cries and her fur has soaked up more tears than my pillows.
I worry about how much longer she has, but then remember that 10 is young for an indoor cat. I've years to spend with my oldest child.
~Lone Butterfly )i(