My husband and I recently celebrated our anniversary. This event was promptly overshadowed by the realization that it was also the anniversary of the date that my cat, Brandy, first came into my life.
You see, my husband and I celebrate the day that we went from individual awkward, cranky cat people ambling around Los Angeles to a couple of awkward, cranky cat people ambling around Los Angeles. Our wedding anniversary is all well and good, but it’s just so new, we haven’t adjusted yet.
As my husband got ready for work that morning, and I contemplated whether it was a “work in real clothes” day or “work in the knee-length Elvis t-shirt I call a dress but the rest of the world calls ‘transparent and upsetting'” day, I realized the significance of the date.
“Holy crap! It’s our anniversary!” I yelped.
“I know, love, happy anniversary!” my husband said sweetly for the second time that morning as he leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“Uh huh,” I graciously accepted the kiss. “But it’s also Brandy’s and my anniversary! It’s the anniversary of the day she allowed me to invade her — your — life!”
I called out to Brandy as she conducted her morning bath: “I love you cat-face! Happy anniversary!”
She gave me a not-unkind glare and proceeded to lick her butt. Such is our relationship.
While I spent much of the day, and even the next few days, trying to make our “Brandyversary” special, Brandy seemed determined to show me that my life with her was a “privilege, not a right.” Here are the highlights.
That afternoon I concocted Brandy a little treat for lunch, what I’ve come to call the Brandy Blitz. It’s basically the tastiest parts of her meals without the entree. Warmed goat milk and her raw meat sprinkles mixed with a dash of this cheesy flavored tooth powder she’s obsessed with.
She’s doesn’t get this treat often, so I thought she might acknowledge the specialness with a wink of appreciation, or, dare I dream … a snuggle?
It went more like this:
She happily gobbled her food then accused me of withholding more treats from her. She yowled at me for the next hour then retreated to the bathroom.
I really wanted to commemorate our anniversary with a picture to place on the mantel so future generations might gaze upon our love.
Okay, fine. I wanted proof.
It’s a joke amongst our friends and family that somehow I’ve found myself in total adoration of a cat who sees the order of our family’s status as: Brandy, my husband, the sweater she stole from me, and then somewhere tied with the can-opener is me. But Brandy does indeed offer me lots of affection, and I do think she loves me in her own kitty way. Just not when anybody is around.
So I tried to take some Brandyversary pictures.
They pretty much amounted to me looking enthused (insane), and her looking annoyed.
As I carried on with the day’s celebration, I took more than one break to cuddle up to Brandy and give her some extra scratches.
This part of the day was to her liking, that is until I would “ruin” things by getting nostalgic and recounting our origin story.
“I remember when we first met,” I’d say. “I was coming out of the bathroom at your old apartment on Romaine Street, and there you were! Staring at me.
“I was told that you’d hide from me for days, but you came right out to size me up. After you laid the ground rules of who was in charge (at the time the hierarchy was you, my then boyfriend, the rainbow snake toy, the can opener, the roommate, then me), we scratched on it, and I’ve been clawing my way up the status ladder ever since. I love you, kitten!”
At some point during the story, she’d stand up and sit AWAY from me. I got the kitty side-eye.
Brandy held my computer hostage. She does this sometimes.
I set my computer down on the bed while I fetched some socks, and when I returned, she had laid claim to it. Brandyversary or not, I was NOT getting the “warm, metal attention stealer” back anytime soon. This was confirmed by a MEEEOOOOW and a swat when I tried to coax it from her grasp.
I thought this might be a bid for attention, so I settled in to stroke her and reminisce some more about our greatest moments. She scampered away to the closet.
The slippers didn’t deserve it.
These are my kitty slippers. My warm, cozy, innocent kitty slippers. They were punished.
As a special anniversary gift to me, Brandy barfed in them. In them, not on them.
Happy anniversary to me.
Despite all of Brandy’s hijinks and grumpiness, I have never been happier with this spunky old broad. She keeps me on my toes — laughing, and inspired.
And if it means I get to celebrate many more Brandyversaries, I’d happily offer up all of my shoes for punishment.
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About the author: Louise Hung is a morbidly inclined cat lady living in Yokohama, Japan, with her cat, her man, and probably a couple ghost cats. She also writes for xoJane. You can follow her on Twitter or drop her a line at IamLouiseMicaela@gmail.com.