Everything I needed to know about love, I learned from my cat Jiji.

Let me set this up:
The first eight years of my marriage were pet-free.
I would see adorable cats or dogs and I would make the casual overtures to my husband that we should get a pet, but then he would remind me that pets come with poop, and I would back down.
(I should mention that my delightful spouse is not an ogre. More than anything else, he never really got past the loss of his beloved childhood dog Digby, to the extent that any cute animal he encountered in the years following Digby's death just looked like heartache to him. He knows all too well that we are generally destined to outlive any of the furry animals we open our hearts to.)
We even had a couple of adorable cats show up at our apartment, and found them homes rather than take them in ourselves.
At some point in our marriage, however, the deal was struck that if a black kitten ever showed up on our doorstep, I would get to keep it, no questions asked.

Well, the kitten got the wrong address -- it showed up at my work.
One of the security personnel scooped him up and put feelers out for takers, one of my coworkers mentioned it to me, and after a certain amount of cajoling and deal making (I would be responsible for all cat care), we had adopted our first cat together, a tiny seven-week old bundle of purr with no tail.
I named him Jiji after the chatty, snarky cat in Kiki's Delivery Service (LOVE that film), and fell in love with him so quickly, I thought my heart might burst from the rapid expansion.

Right away, we realized there was something not quite right with Jiji.
He would get in the litterbox and strain, but with no results.
We called the vet, and they suggested a mild laxative. The thinking was that since he had been out on his own for an unknown period of time, there was no telling what he had been eating.
Initially, the laxative helped, but Jiji continued to have trouble passing stool. Sometimes, he would stand in the litterbox and cry, which broke my heart.
He was in and out of the vet's office pretty frequently the first month we had him, and eventually, our vet (whom I adore) and I had a very serious discussion about Jiji's future.
She told me things with him could either get better or worse, but we wouldn't know what his real chances for a healthy life would be until he reached at least six months of age.
She also told me she felt like he had a really good shot, but that I would have to be very committed to his care and we were going to have to monitor him closely. I agreed that I was willing to do anything and everything I could for him, and if we had to make a hard decision down the road, I would try to make it based on what would really be best for our little fluffy man.

The next several months had ups and downs. Phrases I never thought would come out of my mouth were uttered like, "We're here for the kitten's enema."
At around 5 months old, Jiji started to exhibit some urinary incontinence. You can imagine how fun that is.
We got his constipation issues more or less under control through diet, but his "leaking" continues. We manage it by giving him a wipe down once or twice a day, keeping him shaved in his nether regions to prevent moisture getting trapped near his skin and giving him a rash, and washing his bedding often.

The bottom line, though, is that as these problems progressed and persisted, I never gave up on my crazy little child, and without even thinking, I dealt with some fairly gross stuff.
At some point I realized that my capacity for love was much greater than I had previously thought. I could actually prioritize another living thing in my life other than myself or my husband (who is, seriously, completely easy to live with). It gave me a new sense of self, truly, and a pride in the level of care I am able to give my pets.
Don't get any crazy ideas -- it hasn't made me want kids or anything. Even a challenging cat is still NOTHING compared to a little person.

Jiji is three now. He very rarely goes to the vet for anything other than his routine yearly exam, because he has really flourished, and we have been able to manage his care needs with a fairly regular routine.
He still doesn't like baths, but he tolerates them and just about everything else.
And to top it all off, he has such a fun personality. He's not a lap cat by any means, but he finds odd little ways to tell me he loves me. When I put his food down, he always runs back to me and rubs my legs once before heading to his dish, even though he's a glutton and would rather eat than do almost anything else. Every night, he sits next to my chair as I watch television, occasionally rubbing his face on my foot or hand to let me know he's there.

For every effort we've ever had to put forth, he's repaid us a thousand times over.
Moreover, he has taught me the true meaning of unconditional love.