Tuxedo my girl cat was sitting on my lap and purring this afternoon.

It’s not something I’d expected would have happened this past week, but I’m oh-so-thankful that she is.

I’m still unsure if she had some sort of a bug, or ate a bug, but she’d been sick for more than a week.

We’ve made Tuesday, Thursday and Friday trips to the vet for shots, and I’m so grateful for their care of both Tux, and me.

She is now wrapped in a big ball asleep on Her Chair next to my computer making feel-good sounds about whatever it is that kitty-cats dream about.

I was in my twenties before I’d ever been around a cat. Or a dog, for that matter. The only pets I ever had while growing up were gold fish. That’s because I was allergic to anything with fur. I was also allergic to milk as a baby. Momma said she had to hold me while I cried as the doctor put pins in my back to determine all of my allergies.

I remember she said I was even allergic to milk, and I imagine that was a big problem in the 1940s. I was also allergic to wool so Momma made my little coats.

I can still remember spending lots of time sitting on her lap, or standing next to her, at John A. Brown’s Department Store in downtown Oklahoma City. That was while Momma went through gigantic Butterick and Simplicity pattern books.

She always made sure we had enough money to go across the street to one of the five-and-dime or drug stores. That’s where we shared a dish of ice cream before we took the bus home.

Ooops, Tuxedo is awake and wants my attention again.

She’d spent a little time looking at her shadow on the floor, then jumped back onto her chair.

Tux is 15, and can also jump from the floor to the kitchen counter. She seems to prefer to get onto the back of the couch, then jump a few feet so that she lands on the counter ledge for her treats.

Oops, I’m wrong: She’s not 15, yet.

At the vet’s on Friday I asked Melissa if she’d check Tux’s chart for her age.

She said, “She’s a … model.”

That … means I can’t remember if she said Tux will be 13, or 14, in the spring.

I’ll just look on her Enid SPCA form.

Two hours later: I haven’t been able to find the red three-ring-binder with her medical info that’s also has my doctor info. At one point when I couldn’t find it, I even thought about going through my sock drawer to find it, and that’s when I decided to just call the vet tomorrow.