After that we moved in with my parents. Rusty proceeded to scratch up my mom's new couches while we were out, so it was back to solitary confinement for the little guy. He's always been a smarty though, and somehow managed to squueze himself out the bottom of the bedroom door pretty often. My mom hated it, but secretly, it made me love him so much more.
From there I went to Australia for a semester and in those few months my mom fell in love with Rusty. Never having a pet in the house, she was not used to having to clean up after one or chase one away from garbages and stuff. After she got past this, she saw... he really just wanted love. Since he was weened away from the 3-legged mom too early he's always had a thing for cotton shirts. Specifically, licking them and sucking them (if you let him). Mom would let him and I think it reminded her a bit of her babies and how they used to release themselves into her chest and cuddle up with the comfort they could only feel with their Mommy.
Since then Rusty and I have lived:
- In an apartment in North Massapequa, where I moved after college. I was dirt poor and didn't have A/C and Rusty - all 15 pounds of thick hair - would literally pant like a dog from the heat.
- In an apartment in Astoria, Queens, with 2 other cats. It was here that Rusty learned how to be the dominant animal in a sea of wanna-be's.
- In a house on Castro Street in San Francisco, where Rusty had a cat door and wopuld bring us home 'treats' to show his love... specifically, live mice. He'd come in and stand in front of the TV - putting on his own little show - and spit out the mouse and chase it all over the house.
- In an apartment on 30th St in SF where Rusty came home with half his face slashed open and had to be rushed to the emergency room for 18 stitches.
- In an apartment on Harper St in SF, with another cat door so he could come and go as he pleased. It was here that I learned living on Castro Street had an interesting affect on Rusty. He started bringing another neighborhood cat home, through the cat door. I'd come home and an hour later the two of them would run out from the back of a closet and leave together. It was great. I didn't know the cat's name so I called Rusty's new girlfriend Esrella. Turns out Estrella was a MARTY, and Rusty - apparently - is a gay cat. Go Gays!
- In an apartment in Seattle, where Rusty really started to mellow out, and for once seemed to enjoy spending more time inside, with me, than outside with the kitties in the hood. It was here that Rusty got a crystal (like a kidney stone) stuck in his tiny little penis and came close to dying. This was also when I stood back and really understood how much love I have for this little furry being.
- In a Jeep Wrangler driving cross-country when I moved to NY!
- In a studio apartment in Chelsea (NY), which was only slightly tight until I rescued Rusty's sister, Sadie. Studio apartment + 45 lb pitbull = very little fun for Rusty.
- In a much larger apartment in Brooklyn, where he seems happier than ever and loves his new Father figure, Jeff. Here he is more loving than he ever has been. He seems very healthy and likes all the space we have, even if he does have to share it with Miss Sadie, who likes to position herself right in front of the water bowl so Rusty can't get to it.
To Rusty! My first 'baby' and 10 years of changes and challenges, spent together...
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