Simon, The Christmas Cat

It was December of 2003 and I was a newly married college graduate with a bright future ahead of me and unlimited happiness at my disposal. I’m still a college graduate. Anyway, my ex-wife and I used to spend a lot of time going to animal shelters and pet stores in our spare time. She grew up surrounded by animals. Me? Not so much.

Aside from a steady stream of dogs I didn’t like and a few rodents here and there, I was never much for animals. But living with my friends Remington and Steven had sort of turned me on to the idea of cats. I never had cats growing up, since my family seems to equate them with Satan or Bush or one of the lesser evils.

Living with cats for just a few short months turned me into a cat person, so anytime we’d visit a shelter or store, I’d immediately hunt out the kitties with an eye towards a good cuddling.

We were visiting the Delano cat people and giving the residents some well-deserved cuddles when the ex spotted a small black cat at the bottom of a pile of cages. He was a little scraggly, with yellow eyes. His card said he was 9 months old and that his name was Binky.

“Here, black cat. Come here!”

Binky came to my ex and meowed. She picked him up and handed him to me. He didn’t let me put him back down until we got home. Binky adopted me, not the other way around. While the ex handled the paperwork, I renamed him Simon “Puss Puss” LeBon, which is much more dignified than Binky.

From that day forward, Simon became my Christmas cat. He was a gift to myself at a time when I thought I could rule the world. The world is still safe, but Simon’s still here regardless. It’s the closest relationship with an animal I’ve ever had in my life. I love him a lot, but don’t let him know I said that.