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| Name: |
Phoenix
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Age: |
Twelve years old
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| Gender: |
Female
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Kind: |
European Shorthair
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| Home: |
Vicenza, Italy
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Phoenix
is my cat. No... scratch that: I'm the owner of Phoenix. No, this
isn't right either. Ok, let's say that Phoenix is my owner, this sounds way
more realistic.
We met each other about six years ago, a few days after my first owner, my
cat Micia, passed away, leaving a colossal hole in my life (she was eleven,
in years as well as kilos).
Phoenix, 'Nerina' in the first chapters of her life, was badly treated and
perhaps even beaten when she was very young. At the time we met, someone
had taken her away from those mutants and placed her with a foster family
while waiting to find a new home, in which she would have to be treated as
she deserves.
Because of her past, when she first came home she was mistrusting and
frightened most of the time, resulting in a very aggressive behavior. For
almost a month I couldn't get close to her without protecting myself with
medieval body armor. But at night, from the very first night, probably
because she felt reassured by the calming darkness and my sleeping, she
would jump on the bed and purr like an air compressor. Of course I put the
blanket on my face, fearing to wake up in the morning and be forced to look
for my eyeballs in different rooms of the house. Days passed, and weeks and
months, and she slowly became the sweetest black panther that ever walked
the earth. But beware, sometimes her 'other' side wakes and she is capable
of drawing beautiful baroque compositions into both your arms.
She is Phoenix, she was born again from the ashes of her terrible early
life. And she wants to be loved. Or her vengeance will be feral. No matter
what though, she is my beautiful black panther and I am thankful to have
been the one to bring her out of her shell and give her the life she so
desperately wanted, needed and deserved.
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