When I picked up this cute little orange kitten some eight years ago I had no idea he had a hole in the roof of his mouth. It took five years and a special trip to a holistic vet in CT who solved the continual sneezing mystery. He added to his diagnosis: "You must really love this cat."
I am not totally sympathetic about the sneezing thing. This is because when he is irritated because he can't sit on my lap he begins to sneeze in quick succession in my direction. I don't think this is an accident. I'm happy in those moments he doesn't produce flames from his nostrils.
Oranjestad came by this name two ways. He began as Cinnamon, but that didn't stick so we just called him Orangie... because he was orange. More recently, when I messaged a friend about him along with a cute cat picture spellcheck renamed him Oranjestad, which is a city in Aruba by the way. We had a good laugh over that, but amazingly that name stuck too. For short I call him Oranjie.
Oranjie is a lover. He can't stand not to be touching me or sitting on me. When expelled from my lap (usually because I've been sneezed on and am irritated) he sits next to me and extends a paw which rests softly on my arm. Last year, when Ben, a Maine Coon, came to live with us Oranjie welcomed him easily into our abode and they became good friends. There is no one who comes to visit who is not equally adored and sneezed upon.
I think the creatures that come into our lives come for a reason and that at some point in the field of all possibilities we chose one another for our mutual growth and enjoyment. All those years ago when Oranjestad introduced himself to me I greeted him as a long-lost friend, though he was clearly sickly and abandoned, and took him home without hesitation. I did not feel sorry for him. I felt I was his kin, reunited, though we had not known we had ever been parted until we met.
One day we feel this way about every living thing. Oranjestad is already there.
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