When I moved into my first little studio apartment in the Highlands, a friend contacted me to ask if I'd consider keeping her cat for a couple of months. They were moving into an apartment for a short period of time and couldn't take their cat along. I agreed, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into. (Side information: friend has two small children at this time).
Little did I know that Cleo the cat was not spayed. When she went into heat, I got little to no sleep. I had fallen in love with her, and I couldn't tolerate this one week out of the month. I had decided to tell my friend to find some other place for her cat. She was planning on bringing the kids to visit Cleo...I'd tell her then.
Fast forward to the visit. Cleo either sat in my lap or hid under the bed the whole time the kids were there. She had grown so used to the quiet at my house. Just as I was going to tell my friend, she suggested that I keep Cleo and that she and her family would adopt another cat when they could. I was more than happy with this suggestion. I called a vet as soon as they left and made an appointment that would change my life forever. I became a "cat person."
I had Cleo put down on November 2, 2010. This little cat, born March 9, 1997, adopted by me in 1999, became my lesson on how to love something so unconditionally. My mother, who at one time was not a fan of cats at all, grew to love Cleo in ways she may not ever admit to. I could tell, though, the way she finally came to play with my beautiful little girl.
So that is how the transformation took place.
