No More Sprinkles

A while back (forgive me, but time has become kind of a relative term, since I’ve been spendin’ time with my relatives LOL) Middle Son stood in my bedroom door around midnight. I was asleep. He whispered, “Mom,” which had me on my feet faster than Superman gets into his cape. His father of course, snored soundly, because. . . well y’all know. So up I am, and facing a cat. Well, a boy/man holding a cat. At least I hoped it was a cat, as the room was dark and I could only make out the faint outline of the boy/man holding something with two golden eyes.

I told myself it was a cat, as it was unlikely he was holding a demon from hell and still whispering for his mommy. But ya never know. I stumble into the living room and flip on a light, and sure enough, he is holding a solid black cat. I’ve learned not to ask too many questions when one I gave birth to awakens me at midnight. . . better to go with the flow and see what the youngen wants. Boy/man is in all-black goth regalia, so even with lights turned on, the cat is still pretty much just a purring pair of golden eyes. He says, “My friend is moving and needs somebody to take care of Sprinkles for a few days, can we keep her here?” Wise beyond his years, he thrust the purring, golden-eyed bundle into my arms, knowing full well that I am not going to say, “No! Begone ye beast! I care not for thy welfare!” ('Cause I speak Elizabethan for no apparent reason sometimes, doncha know) I say, “Awwww,” and he knows I’m hooked. So Sprinkles became a guest in our home for what turned into several weeks. Although we already have several cats, they reside outdoors except during severe weather, living the good life of chasing blowing leaves, lounging in the sunshine and general feline rollicking. But Sprinkles is an indoor kitty, so she became an in-house guest, to the absolute horror of the outside kitties who spied her through the glass storm door, and no doubt held a meeting to decide on appropriate action. Fortunately these meetings usually devolve as soon as one of them spots a puffy dandelion to attack.

But now, Sprinkles is gone. Friend is settled, and has taken the cat back. No longer do we trip over her on our way to the bathroom. No longer does she paw at my fingers as I try to type. No longer does she give my beloved mother-in-law (who is allergic) sneezing fits when I come calling, carrying with me, a smattering of Sprinkles. I have been visiting them more frequently due to their recent bouts with illness and infirmity, hence “relative time”. I’ve washed all the clothes, vacuumed up the hair, and put away the litter box. Then I wrote this reminiscence with a long, slow, sigh. Fare thee well, oh ebony one.