My Girl

Life was simple. As soon as I was taken from my shipping box, I had very few surprises. I was placed in a bin where my job was to simply wait. Wait to be shuffled to the top, wait to be noticed, wait to be returned to the bin. Some days would be more exciting than others, of course. I could go from top to bottom and back again five times in a day if it was busy, but no matter how many times I was picked up, I would always be put back and the lemur, dog, or unicorn next to me would be picked up. Some came back, some didn’t.

Of course none of us wanted to come back. As much as we enjoyed each other’s company, its our nature to hope every person who walks by might be the person to take us with them to give us a home and a name and a purpose. As my companions were slowly taken to new homes, one by one, and the bin became sparse, I was moved to a shelf. Everyone knows that when you get placed on the shelf, your time to find a new home is running out, but I have a hopeful nature and try not to be bothered. This shelf was not nearly as cozy as the bin, but I had a much better vantage point from there. I could see all the people walking by with their carts full of necessities like warm winter gloves and food for their pets. I knew I wasn’t a necessity, but maybe I could be someday, for someone.

I always kept my eyes out for people who had a child with them. Children were the ones who picked me up most often, or begged their parents to bring me down for them. Though I knew there wasn’t much I could do, I always tried my best to look extra soft, extra plump, extra inviting for them. My orange fur and round body were designed to be enticing and I did my best to make the most of it. Most of the time, I would get a small tight hug and then be put back on my shelf. Sometimes I would be carried around the store for a bit and returned when the people had to leave. I was never surprised on those occasions when I was returned to the shelf, but as the weeks went by it because difficult to hold back my disappointment.

Time went on, my friends found homes, and I continued to sit on my shelf and wait. As I mentioned, life was simple and I had very few surprises.

I must admit, however, I was quite surprised when I was kissed full on the mouth.

I was having an unsurprising normal day of watching people walk by when a couple with a baby walked by. Even though the baby wasn’t big enough to fully voice her thoughts yet, her parents took me down and handed me to her anyway. Her small pudgy arms stretched towards me and she babbled something that maybe could have been “kitty” or maybe could have just been nonsense. My nose was immediately soggy as the baby put the whole thing in her milky sweet mouth. I know that I am a glutton for attention, but this was a bit too far even for me. If she hadn’t done such a thing, I may have stayed on my shelf and still been there to this day, but I think her parents felt bad leaving me there now that I was wet and would likely be crusty when I dried. No matter how unfortunate our start was, I was taken to the counter, scanned, and taken home with my new family.

Life was not so simple anymore. At first I was just a snuggle buddy. My baby would hold onto me tightly and cry when I wasn’t in her arms. I would go everywhere with her. We would sit in a bouncer together, roll on the floor, and ride in the car together. I was content with this. It was peaceful even though it was something a little bit different every day.

As she has grown, things have gotten more and more surprising. When she learned to throw, I became a projectile. I was thrown upon the ground more times than I can count only for her to realize I was gone moments later and cry until I was returned to her. Then I would be thrown again and repeat the process until I would have been sick if I was able to. When she learned to crawl, I was held in her mouth as if she were a dog and my poor feet drug along the ground while my arms or ears or nose were soggy with saliva, like the first day my baby took me home. It was worth it though, for the times when she returned to find me and squealed with delight before scooping me up.

I got a short period of rest when she began to walk as she learned about her world, but I realized that I didn’t much like the rest. I preferred being bruised and battered to being left behind.

These days my baby is more of a little girl than a baby. She leaves with her parents every morning and returns with them in the afternoons. She gains more words every day which I selfishly hope will result in playing pretend more than playing toss the kitty. Perhaps I will get a real name soon, too. My girl’s parents call me Bomgaars Kitty, which feels uninspired and a bit insulting since a place and a species technically is not a name. As I said, I am hopeful by nature, so I’m hoping my real name will be something better.

Every night, my girl wraps her arm around my thick orange neck and pulls me in close to her as she falls asleep. Some times we read books together or rock in the rocking chair while she holds me tight. When she wakes, she still cries if she is pulled from bed without me. Sometimes my girl bounces me up and down in the direction of her parents, or lays on top of me while she watches her favorite show. She grows and learns so quickly I never know what we will do together.

I have heard stories about others like me who’s children keep them forever. They get to stay on their child’s bed and sleep there at night even as they grow older. They give comfort when their child is sad or doesn’t feel well or breaks up with their high school sweetheart. They get to go to college and move away from home. Some simply get loved to pieces. The luckiest ones get to meet their child’s child someday.

Though I know its a long way off yet, sometimes I wonder if that will be me. When I think that far ahead, these stages of life seem inconsequential. They all have the same purpose in the end. Maybe life really is simple. I like it that way.