I come bearing exciting news! 🙂 Everybody say hello to the newest member of my family!
The first time my eyes locked with his deep blue-grey ones, I fell for him, for he is one of the sweetest kittens I have ever had the pleasure of loving. We spent quite a bit of time looking into each other’s eyes before he raised one of his little paws and attempted to climb out of the basket he was kept in. I watched him, in absolute silence, as he explored his surroundings, nudging the furniture with his small, wet nose as he passed by them.
My family and I were to adopt a kitten, and it was thus that he found his way into our home (and our melted hearts, I might add. :D). Once we brought him home, we had to think of a name for him, of course, and it certainly had to be a very special one.
His mother’s name is Lola. His father’s? Leo. It was then decided that it was only fitting that he be called by a name that began with L as well, and so we began on the search for the perfect name. After a bit of pondering, and quite a bit of bickering, we knew what he would be called.
Lyle, short for Lylan. It had something endearing to it, and it felt right when we called him. Already he has begun to respond to that name.
Lyle is a very feisty cat when he wants to be. Other times, he is a very quiet and reserved kitten who enjoys curling up in a corner and going to sleep. He’s unpredictable sometimes, and I love that about him. He sleeps all day and crawls under my bed late at night to meow and ask me to play, and I love it. (That also explains my half sleep-deprived state 😛 ).
He likes to chew on things too. More than often, it happens to be the edge of my skirts, or a spare pair of ribbons I leave around the house. I’m just glad he hasn’t learnt to get into the laundry basket as of yet! (Then again, ripped jeans are very ‘in style’ today 😉 😀 ) Apart from that, he loves this blue jump rope of mine, and constantly plays with it, running behind it when someone pulls it away, or jumping up to catch it again if anyone lifts it into the air.
Over the three days we’ve had him, we all had our hearts stolen by the cuddly ball of fur that fits in the palms of both my hands put together. We showered affection and love on him every second we spent with him.
Today, I petted him after he woke from a deep slumber while lying down on me, and let him go find his blue jump rope. I changed the water in his bowl and filled the other with his food. He was still with me then, gnawing away at the edge of my skirt. I then had to turn away for five minutes, and when I returned, Lyle was nowhere in sight.
A frantic search ensued. A quick superficial one revealed no kitten, and served only to dampen my hopes, for we discovered that the door had been left slightly ajar, opening up the possibility that he could have gone on an adventure, which caused me to panic. I then proceeded to lift my spirits, convinced myself that he was only sleeping, and went on an hour-long search for Lyle in all the nooks and crannies of my house. When even that didn’t turn up any results, I let the tears I’d been holding back flow.
Lyle was my kitten, and I loved him. I simply couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing him again, even though everyone else was very sure that he was only sleeping, curled up somewhere we hadn’t looked yet. I was convinced that I never should have taken my eyes off him for even those five minutes. I pulled his favourite jump rope close to me and began to silently let streams of warm, salty tears trickle down my cheek for a couple of minutes.
“He’s here!” I heard a shout, and for a second, I snapped out of my trance. I dashed to the source of the sound, the tiny flicker of hope in me burning brighter than ever.
There he was. My sweet, cute, little Lylan. Sleeping peacefully, tucked in the dark corner of an unused cupboard. He hadn’t bothered to even meow and let us know he was there, despite all our audible shouting and terrible meowing, but it was a relief.
I started crying again, but this time it was tears of happiness. Lyle was safe. He was sleeping. I gurgled a small laugh, and it was the best I had felt the whole day.
And yet, the emotions that raged inside me during that hour and a half will never be forgotten.
I have felt tears. I have felt panic. But I have never felt them both together, and it feels a thousand times stronger. It does not have a name, for no name can fully encompass the extent of that feeling I had to endure for those terrifying moments. It is signified, thus, by the symbol of a question mark.
Anyone who has their own solution to this equation? I, for one, cannot solve it.
Tears + Panic = ?
Catch you later!
(Images on this page were taken by me, and are copyrighted.)