The Story Of Aria
First off, welcome to the best story you are going to read about the ten of us. I am the most lovable and certainly the best looking of the bunch. My name is Aria…or No… or Get Down. I hear all of those words every day, so they must be my names. They mean I am the star of the people’s world. That must be true, because I know the people are not yelling at me or telling me I am doing something bad.
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Can you imagine me a bad child? Ha! I laugh at the thought. I am pure royalty. I know this because my dad calls me a diva. I am not sure what a diva is, but it must mean that there is no one else like me, and that I am the best.
I was born June 8, 2015. I am a Maine Coon, which obviously means that, compared to me, everyone else is a mutt. I was locked up at the shelter on December 8, 2015 because my owner did not want me. I suppose I can understand; it is hard dealing with royalty when you are a peasant.
When I came to the shelter, I still had both my eyes. At some point, however, I got a severe infection in my left eye. The vet at the shelter decided to remove my eye because it was much cheaper and simpler than the cure for the infection would be. Do you want to know a secret? Having just one eye doesn’t slow me down a bit. I am just as fearless as I ever was…or just as mischievous, depends on who you ask.
On January 27, 2016, a couple came to look at all the cats in the shelter. Naturally, they loved me at first sight, but then they passed me by and started looking at a cat who lived three cells down from me. “Oh, not her! She’s crazy!” I yelled, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. They went home with Psycho Cat.
I didn’t have time to dwell on the couple’s lack of taste or on my disappointment, because just then two ladies stopped at my cell to look me over. They smiled at me, and I knew they had spotted a winner (obviously). But they, too, left without me. Why?
Before I had time to sink into a wallow of self-pity, the man from the couple came back. I thought he was most likely returning that crazy cat, but he was empty handed. To my astonishment, the shelter ladies opened my cage, and before I knew it, I was leaving with the man. Finally, I was out of that place and on my way to my new home and my new family.
I found out some time later that those ladies had planned to adopt me, but they found out their landlord didn’t allow pets. The shelter called Dad and he came back and got me right away. Of course, he picks on me and says no one really wanted me but him. I know it isn’t true, but I don’t argue with him. It’s nice the way he worships me, but can you blame him? I mean, look at me!
My new house was huge, with so many places to explore and things to see, I didn’t know where to begin. I had to smell and touch everything! I started making my rounds, all the while talking to my new parents about my wants and needs. Those poor fools thought I was thanking them for bringing me home. Isn’t that cute? No, I was saying that I want you humans to serve me and praise me – not the other way around. I like to think that I am a descendant of Cleopatra’s cats and should be treated as such.
I was halfway through my list of expectations, but I stopped mid-sentence. I had just spotted Psycho Cat from the shelter crouching barely five feet away. She was giving me a deranged glare. Mom and Dad call her Joey, but I’m going to stick with Psycho Cat; it fits her better. I do not trust her at all. I resolved to give her a wide berth, but I got so busy exploring my cool new home that I forgot. I turned a corner and Psycho Cat jumped out at me. Geez Louise! This place is a haunted house with her around.
After I had been home a week, myself and Joey or Psycho Cat or whatever (seriously, nothing scares me, except for her) left with the humans. I came home a few hours later but Joey didn’t come back. Oh yeah, I thought to myself. Now I could explore without the jump scares, and it was amazing. Maybe a day or two later -I’m not really sure; I have better things to do than watch the clock, the psycho cat returned. She was wearing a cone around her head and didn’t seem at all interested in doing her surprise attacks. Was she going to be tamer now? Naturally, I investigated because I am the world’s best detective. It didn’t take me long to realize she had gone through the spaying process. Most cats who come from the shelter have to have that procedure done, and I have heard the humans say it is good for us. I don’t have any reason to think they would lie, so I passed that knowledge to Psycho Cat. She just rolled her eyes, and went to lie down. She seemed lonely, and I know what it is like to feel lonely so I decided to put my distrust aside and do the right thing. Summoning my courage, I approached her and said, “Cheer up…Joey. I will be your friend.” I curled up next to her, hoping to take her mind off her stitches and that horrible fashion faux pas of a cone.
Life was great! I had an entourage to follow me around admiring my royal self: sickly kitten, mouth breather, and still-a-little-psycho cat (Mom and Dad refer to them as Missy, Maggie, and Joey, respectively). Then, out of the blue, my parents came home with three new cats: two little kittens and an old cat. They must have known I needed even more subjects to adore me. I mostly felt indifferent toward my new followers. They were unremarkable in looks and they smelled like the shelter. I didn’t give them much of a second thought, but I did think it was nice the way the one called Cadabra worshipped the ground I walked on. I have my eye on her if I decide I need any nobility.
Before I had even gotten used to having Sabrina, Abra, and Cadabra around, another cat joined the court. This one came from outside, and I admit I was jealous because he had been able to explore places I didn’t even know existed. He was pretty, too, for a mutt. Obviously, he didn’t equal me in looks, but he was prettier than anyone else in my squad.
At first it seemed that Pretty Boy was only passing through. Mom and Dad said they were going to help him find another home. Pfft. Fine by me, I thought. I already had my paws full keeping the other five cats and Maggie in line. My humans are pretty great, but they should not try to start careers in cat placement. They are not good at it. After a week or so of trying to find a new home for the outside cat, they gave up and decided to keep him. They named him Buddy. I laughed when I heard that. It’s such a simpleton name, but it fits him; he is not the brightest ball of yarn.
Just as I was growing accustomed to Simpleton Buddy‘s presence, low and behold, Dad brought home yet another cat. This one was black like Abra and Cadabra, but something was different about him. He was not a mutt. OMG, they got another Maine Coon! And they named him Taco (what kind of name is that?) To this day Taco is my rival. I can’t have him thinking he is royalty just because he is a Maine Coon like me.
A month after Taco arrived, Mom and Dad adopted Thomas. Seriously, I think my parents are hoarders of cats. I had to put my foot down. “No more cats!” I roared. It must have worked, because in the three years since my decree, they have not brought home any more cats. Nevertheless, ten is a large number of us, and yes, it can get crazy sometimes. I do like a good game of chase with the others, but what I like more is being walked outside on my leash, eating, and of course, being adored by my subjects – human, feline, and canine.
Your next read is The Story Of Sabrina
Dad Note: A few days after we adopted Aria, I shared her photo everywhere online and with friends. One friend identified Aria as a Maine Coon. We did basic research and agreed. The fun of calling her our PURE BREED with the other cats being just mutts became my favorite pass time. After much research, we have discovered that our beloved Aria is a Siberian Cat. The similarities between that breed and our girl is uncanny. Also, as we searched photos online of the Siberian cats, so many look identical to Aria. The Siberian Cat is perfect for Aria. Poor Aria has been misidentified for years and we apologize to you, the reader, for delivering wrong information. I am now trying to get used to calling Aria our little Siberian PURE BREED with her new royalty disclaimer.
