This is Simon.
Or Mr. Simon as he is titled in our house. I have had Simon for 11 years now. When I went away to University (the Canadian equiviant to College) I wanted some extra company in my little apartment. I found Simon at a rescue shelter, he had been found in a box of kittens on the highway. He then was “rescued” by a family that abused him badly afterwhich he came to me. The first year with Simon was not easy. He was terrified of a lot of things, brooms, water bottles and loud men. It was obvious in his short 8 month life he had seen and experienced things no kitten should. A lot of my time in that first year was about recovering Simon from his trauma. It took a lot of effort and patience.
Everything changed for our Simon when he met Matt.
Matt loves cats, and the day he met Simon I will never forget. Simon loves to play fetch (he is a Maine Coon, they are large dog-like cats.) Simon brought his ball back to Matt for hours, chirping and squawking away. It was love at first sight. Simon has been his ever since, I come in a very distant second. He follows Matt around the house, cuddles with him, the two of them share a very special connection that I adore for both of them.
I don’t know why it took me a month to mention Simon. Maybe because he is a given. There is no adult me without Simon. I cannot imagine the day when he is not here. I know that day will come, however, I cannot imagine the shattered soul I will be in the wake of such a day. He is such spunk, such personality. He is loud, BIG (over 3 feet long, and over a foot tall), curious, playful and sweet. He is a smart pain in the butt, regal, stubborn and wise.
Possibly my favourite thing about this beautiful soul, other than his constant friendship, is his sense of humor. At one point, for a year, I lived in a VERY tiny bachelor appointment. Simon and I were crammed into a very little apartment with only a main room, galley kitchen and bathroom. It was insane, but it was all I could afford. Simon likes his space from me, aloof as all cats are. When I would make him mad, he would go and sit in the bathtub and face the wall. It was possibly the only part of entire apartment you could not see from anywhere else in the room…and he found it. He would sit facing the wall in stoney silence. Until finally I would relent, shake the treat bag or say I was sorry for the bag I left on the floor (or for whichever percived sin I had committed.) He had me well trained.
Mr. Simon is a Mr. because he was the first man of our house. He is a Mr. as he is regal and wise. We adore our “first boy” and find a lot of comfort in his companionship.
If only we could behave ourselves enough to keep him out of the bathtub.