Before my sister was born, my parents found a kitten. They decided to keep it because they could find no owner. They named her Princess. My sister is four years older than I am, so we both grew up with this cat. She’d sometimes follow us and watch over us. My parents used to make jokes about how she thought of us as her kittens.
Now, my sister wasn’t very nice to me. It took a lot of people a lot of time to realise she wasn’t just nasty; it was full-on abuse and bullying.
When I was too young to understand what was happening, I used to talk to Princess. She was like my version of a diary; I’d sit with this creature that was older than I was and tell her all my problems.
One day at a store, my mum told us she’d buy us each a lolly. My sister wanted a different one than I did, and she grabbed my arm and clawed her nails down it so hard it drew blood. It hurt a lot, and I was really upset. When we got home, I went and cried to Princess about how scared I’d felt. After a while, I calmed down and went and played with my toys. Princess ambled out of the room.
A few minutes later, I heard a shriek, and Princess ambled back in. It turned out that she’d walked up and scratched my sister’s hand and then hissed at her before coming back to sit with me and watch over me playing with my toys.
My parents assume that my sister provoked her, but I know. She walked out of the room right after I’d been talking to her, and she walked in right after the shriek. I can’t prove it, but I think Princess saw how scared I was and showed me that she’d protect me.
I’ve never told anybody about my white and grey guardian apart from my current cat. I haven’t thought about Princess in a while. She lived to be around twenty, depending on how old she was when my parents got her. I loved that cat. Funnily enough, my new cat was originally my sister’s. She got him and then left him with my parents, and he slowly became mine. He likes to sit with me more than he likes her.
