My family made me a bad pet owner

While making dinner tonight, trying not to lose my mind, burn myself or anything near the stove, constantly popping an eye into the front room to ensure my daughters haven't destroyed anything or each other, my cat got in front of my legs, and I nearly tripped over him three or four times. Finally I stopped my rushing around and looked down at him. "What do you need, Rigor?" I growled. Then I felt really bad. He meowed a beggin meow once, turned, walked over to the cat door that goes out to the garage, glancing back twice to ensure I was in pursuit. He just wanted dinner, too. His bowl was empty.

I don't forget to feed him that often - his food and water are to the left of the door as soon as I step foot into the garage - so everytime I leave the house via the garge, it's right there. Unfortunately, there isn't a set schedule anymore - I feed him twice a day, at some point in the morning, and another time in the evening. But tonight, I forgot. And now I feel really bad. Since my family has become progressively larger, my attention towards him has diminished. Now, instead of greeting each other when I come home, as we had once done, he warily peeks out from behind the couch when the door out to the garage opens. If it's me, he cautiously come out of hiding, mews an obligatory hello. If it's my husband, or both of us, he plays the invisible act, fearful of my mate's wrath.

So I've become one of those pet owners that sometimes kind of forgets they have a pet. My stories I share with friends, family, any stranger that will listen revolves around what my 2-year old-did that was humorous yet destructive, or what my 9-month-old did, that was sweet and in response to the destruction her sister caused. I take pictures of my kids doing crazy and cute things, instead of my cat, hiding in the curtains, trying to catch a grasshopper, just sleeping. He used to be my companion, an ally against the cruel world of being a confused, lost college student that may have liked the wine a bit too much. He was something that depended on me, in a sense kept me grounded, prompted me to check in, make arrangements if I would be out for longer than an evening.

Rigor came to me very unexpectedly - I was spending time in a park after hours with some friends (how's that for shady business), and out of the corner of my eye, saw a flash of movement near a bush. I thought maybe the lack of sleep was catching up to me. Then I saw it again. It was a big light colored cat, and when I started to call out, 'Kitty, kitty kitty!' he came over. He allowed me to pet him. He was very dirty, yet soft. He felt bony, as if he had been out fending for himself a while. I got my friend to pull up the car, and attempted to load him in. He wasn't having anything to do with that. It was right then that I saw how stubborn he was going to be.

He remained loyal to me through everything - the many moves I made, the other cat we had for a few years before she ran away and someone else took her in (that's what I keep telling myself), my husband, my babies. Slowly, through the years, our relationship changed. At one time he slept at the foot of my bed every night, and cuddled with me while I worked on homework. My husband quickly put an end to that after we got married, letting me know then that he hated cats. Now Rigor hides from my husband a lot behind the couch, and spends time outside with other neighborhood cats. When the girls try to play with him he sometimes bats at their hands, in an attempt to form a connection with someone, anyone. Usually it ends in a scratch and some crying (the girls, not him). I can tell he misses the lavish life of scratching under the chin and petting and attention he once enjoyed. But he manages, and still seems perfectly happy with his days spent sprawled out across the floor in the afternoon sunlight, or outside beneath one of the trees in our yard. That's the great thing about a cat. Cats are loners. They need some affection at times, but basically are self sufficient. Do they really need us, besides the feeding part? Do we really own cats? Or do cats own us? When Rigor tried to trip me tonight, he eventually got what he wanted, and like a dutiful care provider, I dropped what I was doing for his needs. I clean out his cat liter. I refill his water. And he lounges on the couch when my husband is at work, like he is the head of the household. Yes, he is deprived a bit of that attention. But to be honest, I don't think it's really that big a deal to him. His needs are minimal. I think he knows it's a circus outside the couch. And he's much more content being by himself. So when the girls go to bed, and I have a little time, I'm going to give him that attention he once knew. Remind him that he's a good cat, and even though I give most of my attention to others, there's still a little bit left for him. Thanks for being so understanding, Rigor.