I should start this post by explaining that I’ve never been particularly fond of cats.  This is likely in large part because I am horribly allergic.

My sister and I lived a good chunk of our childhood years on a farm.  One of the barncats had a litter of kittens which were oh-so adorable. I recall fondly loving on those babies as well as the mama cat who was quite exhausted by the ordeal.

I also recall, far less fondly, waking up the next morning, unable to open my eyes as they were swollen shut.

As I said – allergic.

That memory pretty much stuck without me as I grew up, and when I could I avoided our little feline overlords.  Not only did they make my eyes itchy, but I always ended up horribly congested, wheezing, running nose, sore throat… They were an express trip to misery.

Sadly, a number of my friends rather LIKE the beasties, and while I would try to avoid them when visiting, they would be drawn to me.

Fun Fact: Cats sense allergies – it’s like the sweetest of nectar to them.

So can you imagine my joy when one got trapped under my house?

It was in February of 2014, we were having a cold snap. It was hanging in the low-teens that whole week, and one fine evening, there came a rather insistent meowing from beneath my floor. It was loud and constant, following us from room to room.  And, at that time, I was the last one to bed in the house, it ended up beneath my floorboards, keeping me up.

For three freaking nights.

I finally managed to get the thing out from beneath the house, put it on my front porch… and the cretin zoomed right back under the house.

Mark that as four sleepless nights at this point.

So a decision was made… I wrestled the beastie free once more, and decided I was going to take it to the no-kill shoulder that weekend.

Sadly, it took to me. 

Of COURSE the damn thing wanted to lay right on my face.  It was his favorite cuddle spot, and oh, did he purr to tell me how much he appreciated the place to rest.

Did I mention I was allergic? Like, really-really allergic?

There was no no-kill shelter that weekend – too busy, and all that.

We decided to call him Dungeon (as in Dungeon Master) as we found him beneath the house.

BUT HE WAS GOING TO GO TO THE SHELTER.

Good god, the cuteness. And so FIERCE.

So this wasn’t working for me.  I knew I had a little boy-kitten, so it was only responsible to get him nipped.

I also started taking allergy meds twice a day – morning and night.

Breathing wasn’t that important, was it?

Ah, but Devlin – I shall blame my man-child – apparently became rather attached. Not me – no, not at all! I didn’t like cats! They were evil!  I was allergic! But the boy…

Fine! I admit it! I fell in love with the little jerk. But how could I not?

• He likes his belly rubbed (and it is NOT a trap!)
• He sits better than my dog does for treats (though I suspect he’s trained US to provide him treats when he requests them…)
• He’s very vocal, and we have regular conversations
• He provides kitty-kisses upon request… if you are worthy
• He knows his name, and while come when called… if he feels like it
• He misses me when I’m gone, and snuggles something fierce when I get home… after telling me how displeased he was that I left without permission

So now we have our own little household deity. Our very own benevolent ruler.  I’m fairly certain he will one night kill us all in our sleep, but until then…

That’s my cat, damnit.

And breathing is overrated.

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