So those of you that know me personally know that Clark, my kitty, died last year. It was a very difficult time for me and something that hurt so much. I would find one of his toys under the couch and just start crying. He was my favorite cuddle buddy and such a good kitty.

Well life moved on and I continued to miss my house kitty. You see, ever since I was a little girl all I wanted was a house cat. I’m a tad obsessed with them. Plus, animals help with my anxiety. (That’s a story for another day.) So not having something to comfort my pain was really wearing on me and I was getting anxious to get another kitty. (ha. Imagine that. Someone with anxiety getting anxious.)

Then Gemma showed up.

On our farm we have farm cats. They’re amazing hunters who keep the mice down in the corn and in the buildings. They are probably some of the most cared for farm cats you’ll find. Well, like most farm cats, one of our females got pregnant and had five baby kittens. Four were yellow and one was a tortie (a very colorful/not so much white calico). Well this just melted my heart. A.) Because they were new baby kittens and everyone loves kittens. Unless you’re heartless, then you might not. B.) My house cat growing up (I’ll tell you about how I accomplished that goal another day) was born into a litter of four yellow mates and she was the only black one. Kinda just like this new litter.

Well, like most farm cats, the kittens didn’t all make it. Except the tortie. For a few days, or so I thought. I went out one day and just couldn’t find her. I was mortified. She was my favorite and I loved her so much. She was gorgeous, cuddled so well, and purred. Oh her purr was magnificent. But she was a farm kitty and that’s what farm kitties do, they disappear.

Until a week later. Dad called me and told me that he found her! She was living in the hay in the shed and the only reason he found her was because she was crying. (She obviously missed me.) Dad thought that her mother couldn’t find her so she wasn’t getting anything to eat and was hungry and alone. Well I couldn’t have that. I told dad to put her in the pet taxi and I would bring her home. I would raise her. Well I didn’t run this by the farmer. You see, he hates cats. Especially house cats. When Clark died I thought he was going to do a cartwheel–he didn’t have to have another house cat. OR SO HE THOUGHT! HA! I’m not proud of what I did next.

I pouted and cried. I didn’t do this to be a brat or get my way, but I did this because that is how much a house cat means to me. That is how much they help me with my anxiety. Cats are more than just animals to me. They help me heal, feel loved, and bring joy to my life. If I could have my cows in my house I would, but I can’t so cats are the next best thing.

So the farmer saw how much it meant to me and let me keep her. He even named her! Gemma. (Later I found out that he was watching Sons of Anarchy and one of the characters name is Gemma. Apparently they have the same hair color.) But I thought this name was perfect. She was ‘one of kind’, she was my ‘gem’. So Gemma became a part of the family.

She is still a kitten so she terrorizes everything and pushes my buttons, but her snuggles are still the very best.