Princess, The Royal Cat

Princess Cat
Spring/Summer 2004 - May 18, 2015

           We found Princess on the side of the road when I was seven years old. We were on the way home from dance class. We were almost at the stop sign when mom noticed a tiny black and white kitty sitting in a ditch. Mom pulled over, and I got out and picked her up. I still remember how her tiny claws dug into my ballet outfit. I like to think that our friendship start there.

           The first few months we had her, she stayed outside. She was a feisty little thing when she was little, but she loved attention. I would sit on the front porch with her and she would climb up on my lap and rub her face against my hands. Later in her life, when she became an indoor/outdoor cat, mostly because of her occasional behavior issues, she would climb the swing on our back porch. She would sit there and stare through the kitchen window at us, occasionally meowing at us to make sure we noticed her there.

           I was the one who decided to call her Princess, which mom later joked was a mistake. “Now she thinks she really is royalty!” She would say. She wasn’t wrong. I think Princess thought she was just that, a princess. She acted her ‘most royal’ when she begged for food. She’d sit next to her food or water bowl and stare until someone noticed. She always had a look on her face that said “human, do you see what’s wrong with this picture? Don’t you see that I am royalty?”

           While I was in elementary school, my sister and I came up with a nick-name for her. We lovingly called her CCPD, or Cat-Cow-Pig-Devil. The nickname was due to three things. First, the color of her fur always made think of cows. Sometimes I would refer to her as ‘kitty-cow.’ We called her pig because of how much she liked to eat. During her days as a strict indoor kitty, which didn’t last long, she put on a lot of weight, prompting us to put ‘pig’ in her nickname. It’s not hard to guess what prompted the last word of her nickname. Princess definitely wasn’t angelic, especially when she was little. She would let everyone in the house know what mood she was in, especially if she was mad.

           She would also sit with us while we eating, occasionally sticking her paw and ‘poking’ mom with it. Sometimes while I ate, I could almost feel her beautiful light green eyes staring at me. She continued that particular behavior right up until the last week of her life.

           As moody as Princess could be, she was also sweet and loving. One of my fondest memories of her was when I was thirteen years old, and she was six. Mom got the idea of putting Christmas bows on the cats and taking pictures of them. I went outside, called Princess, and she jumped up on the hood of mom’s car. As I tied the little velvet bow around her neck, she started rubbing her face against my hands. I had a hard time getting a good picture of her. Every time I backed away to snap the picture, she walked towards me to get attention. When I finally managed to take the photo, it was right as she was walking towards me again.

           As she grew older, she became more of a lap cat, and a little (emphasis on little) less feisty. There was no question about who her favorite human was. She slept in my room; I even kept a bowl of food for her in there. Sometimes she would lay on the unoccupied space next to my pillow. Sometimes she'd curl up right next to me, making it so I couldn’t move without disturbing her. One morning I woke up with her face on my mouth, and I frequently woke up with a paw on my face.

           Princess was also one of my best friends when I was hurting. Whenever I felt like crying I would lay on my bed holding her, and she would sit there while I got it all out. She was one of my best friends while I struggled with self-harm, and then through the months that I fought to quit. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do without her. I still haven’t figured that out.

           Princess was especially affectionate during the last few months of her life. She would interrupt me from writing college papers by laying across my chest, or walking across my laptop. At least once a day she would lay down on the tray table next to the recliner. She had a system for that. First, she would jump unto the tray table and lay there for a few minutes, sometimes an hour. Then she would jump off of the tray table and onto my chest. She would sit there and purr, rubbing her face into my shoulder, and occasionally licking my face. More than a few times my view of my laptop would be obscured by her standing there. From there, she would sometimes transition to sitting on my shoulders, or just sitting at the top of the recliner.

           I know that I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Princess. I miss the feel of her silky black and white fur as she laid across my chest. I miss the offended look in her bright green eyes when I paid attention to the other cats. I even miss the loud annoying yowl she’d give at six o’clock in the morning when I hadn’t yet gotten up. Princess was so much more than just a family pet. To me she was family, and she was one of my best friends.