Suspended for ignoring the thread title rules.
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Now of course you need to know the prompt: Write an essay in which you tell us about someone who has made an impact on your life and explain how and why this person is important to you.
Here she is:
"Swamp kitty," a.k.a. Cottontail, was no Lassie, but also not just any ordinary Fluffy either. My crazy cat was a bright albino that looked like he had no right to be born in the swamplands of northern Louisiana. You probably would not think of what type of trees grow in the local park and how they came to be there, or wonder about who the person in the rear of the bus is and what they do for a living; Cottontail is the elephant strutting along the streets of New York city who everyone wonders how did this elephant come to be here, why it is just casually strolling about, and what is going to happen next with it. That is my cat. He is the odd man out who I often think of how he managed to keep his primal instincts while a house pet, why he did most of what he did, and what made him unique apart from all the other millions of pets out there. Yes, he was one interesting character indeed.
As a young toddler I had no idea about anything in the world except for screaming for attention, the luring taste of any kind of candy, and soft animals that for some reason seemed to always be around the house. Regretfully, I must admit that I too was the gurgling boy who laughed and screamed gleefully as I chased our pets over the garden and through the woods. At least, until this mean beast appeared from my parents' car. I was not accustomed to anything smaller than I not doing what I wanted and even fighting back. He had his own will and was independent and lived as he wanted to. Cat food was unacceptable, so the next best thing was to hunt and have the satisfaction of getting the food himself. Needless to say, we discovered many a squirrel head and dead birds and even mice and rats in the backyard or on the wooden porch of our house. When I grew older and our family moved, Cottontail moved on to battling raccoons and opossums. Legitamently, not even dogs stood a chance because this cat was a pure wild animal that fought for his life time after time again.
My biggest boast and most depressing memory was the time when Cottontail disappeared for a month; he was just gone. I was only a wee lad eleven years of age, so I literally bawled hysterically and ran into the three acres of forest our property consists of and grieved for our cat when he had been gone a week. A sadness worse than the country's mourning of President Ronald Reagan's death swept over me and consumed my household life. My childhood pet had moved out of my life when I was not ready for him to do so. First comes denial, then anger, followed by depression, and finally on to acceptance. I had finally passed through these stages and was at acceptance when the next thing that I was not prepared for hit me. Imagine finding a hundred dollar bill or unwrapping a Christmas gift, and it being exactly what you wanted or receiving a letter of acceptance to your absolute favorite college. None of these can compare to my surprise and joy when I awoke to the sad meowing of an exhausted and home-sick cat outside the front door of the house. This was my priceless friend and fate had decided that we should stay together for a while longer, and I was as ecstatic as a father seeing his newborn offspring for the first time. A ridiculously mangy, dirty, and cut up mess, Cottontail had returned from his adventure. If only he could have been able to tell me the details.
All the expeditions Cottontail had gone on had finally caught up to him and gave him many health problems. During his last few months he had become a housecat, unwillingly, from formerly always an outdoor cat. Depressed, the poor cat would struggle over to the glass doors that look out onto the open grass filled with trees as the sun shined happily down, creating a horrible desire for Cottontail to creep through the dark Jasmine bushes and to frisk in the meadow of the backyard. Loved and cared for more than ever, the only happiness he received was for me to lie on the couch next to him and let the still eccentric cat lick my hair clean for me. I remember the actual frown of disapproval he would give me after I picked him up from my lap while he was sleeping, so that I could get up from my reclining position on the couch we were both relaxing on. While fantasy stories and fairytales all seem golden, real life is not always as expected and as all things must return to the dust, so did Cottontail. The drastic change in air pressure from Hurricane Ike blew in and was too much for the seasoned cat; we buried him five days after the deadly hurricane struck land.
Being born in the actual wild, Cottontail had not lost his killer nature or the curiosity that all cats seem to have. He was as unpredictable as a bucking bronco, and so there was never a time I thought I had him figured out. This is what made him so very special compared to every other pet. He was like a flag flapping in the wind, there is always a new direction in which you are blown, and always something new going to happen there. Cottontail had decided that the unknown is more worthwhile that the ordinary. The days following Cottontail's death caught me grieving not only for my loss of a fantastic companion, but also because I realized that he was just as normal as anything else out there prowling about in the woods. I was just naïve up until the point that I realized, as Cottontail would agree with, life is more enjoyable and meaningful when you seek new experiences.
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Now of course you need to know the prompt: Write an essay in which you tell us about someone who has made an impact on your life and explain how and why this person is important to you.
Here she is:
"Swamp kitty," a.k.a. Cottontail, was no Lassie, but also not just any ordinary Fluffy either. My crazy cat was a bright albino that looked like he had no right to be born in the swamplands of northern Louisiana. You probably would not think of what type of trees grow in the local park and how they came to be there, or wonder about who the person in the rear of the bus is and what they do for a living; Cottontail is the elephant strutting along the streets of New York city who everyone wonders how did this elephant come to be here, why it is just casually strolling about, and what is going to happen next with it. That is my cat. He is the odd man out who I often think of how he managed to keep his primal instincts while a house pet, why he did most of what he did, and what made him unique apart from all the other millions of pets out there. Yes, he was one interesting character indeed.
As a young toddler I had no idea about anything in the world except for screaming for attention, the luring taste of any kind of candy, and soft animals that for some reason seemed to always be around the house. Regretfully, I must admit that I too was the gurgling boy who laughed and screamed gleefully as I chased our pets over the garden and through the woods. At least, until this mean beast appeared from my parents' car. I was not accustomed to anything smaller than I not doing what I wanted and even fighting back. He had his own will and was independent and lived as he wanted to. Cat food was unacceptable, so the next best thing was to hunt and have the satisfaction of getting the food himself. Needless to say, we discovered many a squirrel head and dead birds and even mice and rats in the backyard or on the wooden porch of our house. When I grew older and our family moved, Cottontail moved on to battling raccoons and opossums. Legitamently, not even dogs stood a chance because this cat was a pure wild animal that fought for his life time after time again.
My biggest boast and most depressing memory was the time when Cottontail disappeared for a month; he was just gone. I was only a wee lad eleven years of age, so I literally bawled hysterically and ran into the three acres of forest our property consists of and grieved for our cat when he had been gone a week. A sadness worse than the country's mourning of President Ronald Reagan's death swept over me and consumed my household life. My childhood pet had moved out of my life when I was not ready for him to do so. First comes denial, then anger, followed by depression, and finally on to acceptance. I had finally passed through these stages and was at acceptance when the next thing that I was not prepared for hit me. Imagine finding a hundred dollar bill or unwrapping a Christmas gift, and it being exactly what you wanted or receiving a letter of acceptance to your absolute favorite college. None of these can compare to my surprise and joy when I awoke to the sad meowing of an exhausted and home-sick cat outside the front door of the house. This was my priceless friend and fate had decided that we should stay together for a while longer, and I was as ecstatic as a father seeing his newborn offspring for the first time. A ridiculously mangy, dirty, and cut up mess, Cottontail had returned from his adventure. If only he could have been able to tell me the details.
All the expeditions Cottontail had gone on had finally caught up to him and gave him many health problems. During his last few months he had become a housecat, unwillingly, from formerly always an outdoor cat. Depressed, the poor cat would struggle over to the glass doors that look out onto the open grass filled with trees as the sun shined happily down, creating a horrible desire for Cottontail to creep through the dark Jasmine bushes and to frisk in the meadow of the backyard. Loved and cared for more than ever, the only happiness he received was for me to lie on the couch next to him and let the still eccentric cat lick my hair clean for me. I remember the actual frown of disapproval he would give me after I picked him up from my lap while he was sleeping, so that I could get up from my reclining position on the couch we were both relaxing on. While fantasy stories and fairytales all seem golden, real life is not always as expected and as all things must return to the dust, so did Cottontail. The drastic change in air pressure from Hurricane Ike blew in and was too much for the seasoned cat; we buried him five days after the deadly hurricane struck land.
Being born in the actual wild, Cottontail had not lost his killer nature or the curiosity that all cats seem to have. He was as unpredictable as a bucking bronco, and so there was never a time I thought I had him figured out. This is what made him so very special compared to every other pet. He was like a flag flapping in the wind, there is always a new direction in which you are blown, and always something new going to happen there. Cottontail had decided that the unknown is more worthwhile that the ordinary. The days following Cottontail's death caught me grieving not only for my loss of a fantastic companion, but also because I realized that he was just as normal as anything else out there prowling about in the woods. I was just naïve up until the point that I realized, as Cottontail would agree with, life is more enjoyable and meaningful when you seek new experiences.
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