As an almost five year old, I remember crying and begging for a cat for my birthday. Now, the logical thing to do would have to buy me a stuffed animal cat or something of that nature. But, alas, my parents gave in and bought me the real deal. I got a black kitten and named her Sweetie Pie.
I liked her for a year or two, but she was mean and scratched a lot, so we quickly started calling her Snarls.
A solid 15 years later and I am still disliking this cat, but she is still alive and well. I spent the summer in Cape Town before my junior year of college. Meanwhile, my room at home was empty and unused...or so we thought. Snarls had posted up under my bed and never left...meaning she used the bathroom under there for an entire summer. I came home disgusted and immediately threw her out of the house. So the 15 year old cat became an outdoor animal and we were certain she couldn't live much longer.
Wrong. She explored the outdoors for a little while...then has been posted up on our back patio for the past two years straight, still hoping someone will take pity on her and let her inside.
Fast forward to this past Friday. I had to work early, my parents were gone for the day, and Camille was asleep upstairs in my room. I come home to find a mangled Snarls outside the back door. I was disgusted and alarmed.
I took her in and gave her a bath, attempting to clean her wounds and dry her off, but Camille and I were positive she had to be at the tail end of her ninth life.
My mom took her to the vet that afternoon [her first vet visit in at least a decade]. Instead of scolding us for this half-dead 19 year old cat, they shaved around her wounds, gave her a shot of antibiotics, and sent her home to recover. More importantly, though, they had this chart that tells us she is NINETY FOUR years old.
Snarls is, as of an hour ago, still very alive. She might be deaf and mean and have some crazy scars, but this cat is one tough cookie.