It Loved Me

     So when I was little, I had a cat that hated me. Like, really really hated me. Hated me to the point where it would jump out of the corner and randomly beat the crap out of me. But, alas, I was in love with all of my animals and took it as a sign of affection. I had convinced myself that it loved me.

     Then there was that one day.. My parents decided they were going to get rid of Tinkerbell. They said she didn't like me. A completely untrue statement. We loved each other dearly. I begged and pleaded for them not to get rid of her but they were extremely adamant on taking Tinkerbell to the 'farm'. The 'farm' was, in my head, really a ditch out in the middle of the country where my dad would take her and dump her body after he beat her to death. I thought my parents were evil monsters as I kid. I'd like to think that certain circumstances led me to believe this. That's for another day.

     So in all desperation to keep my beloved Tinkerbell, I grabbed her and ran and locked myself into the bathroom. She started attacking me as I was cuddling her. My screams of joy must have worried my parents because they pulled the door off the hinges and ran in as she was hanging off my arm. They didn't understand. They asked me why I kept dealing with her attacking me and I just threw my head back and screamed, "BECAUSE I LOVE IT!" I can only imagine my 5 year old self letting a full grown cat hang mercilessly from my arm... by it's teeth. But, no, really, it loved me.