First, she is not mine. It is my fault that she becomes mine because I fall in love with her. I love her but that doesn’t mean she is perfect. She is a brat. An annoying bratty cat.
A few nights ago, I was asleep since eight o’clock. Around midnight, my mister got on bed, pulled the comforter, then, jumped out of bed, like a flash. Perhaps he had touched a snake, I thought. I was laying on my left side, legs pulled up, in fetal position. In the nook between my knees and my chest was Nora, my cat. Being exposed, she stood up, stretched, walked over my body, jumped down, and left. I did not know when Nora got on the bed, snucked in and went under the comforter, especially on mister’s side. Normally I only has allowed her to be on my side and at the edge of the bed.
Since that night, Mister still grumbles every time he sees the cat near the bed.
Mister does not want the cat to get on his bed. That is reasonable. Both of us suffer cat allergy. He mumbles somethings about the cat’s fur that gets into his nose. I sneeze and sniffle if I don’t take allergy pills. I know being with the cat will shorten my life. I will go sooner than when I suppose to leave. For heaven, of course, where else I choose to go?
My cat is a writer cat although I keep telling her, I am not a writer. She wakes me up at three in the morning just because she wants me to get up and write. If I don’t, she goes down, sits at the bottom of the stairs, and screams for me. She comes back at four with her mousy toys, leap on the bed, walks on over me, my head, my face. She kisses me if she can find my face, I like to think she kisses me but maybe she just like the taste of salt in my sweat.
She wants to go out, in the cold. She sits at the door, meows as if to say: “Humans, let me out, please.” When we open the door, she sniffs, hesitates, if she finds something dangerous like the howl of wind, rumble of car, or rustle of leaves, she runs back inside. Seconds later, she repeats the whole thing.
If I take a shower, she barges into my bathroom. If I sit on a chair, a couch, or even a bed, she tries to climb onto my lap. Perhaps, she thinks she owns my lap, or it is her throne. If she wants to look outside windows, she will hop on table. Her former owner installed a perch for her, couple months ago so she could sit and watch whatever interested her but she hardly used it. Sometimes I picked her up, positioned her on the perch, and bribed with a treat only to find out she would just sit there about a minute or two. Lately, perhaps she is getting old, or too heavy, she has missed her steps occasionally. If she wants to jump up, she pauses a few seconds to calculate the distance.
I think about to put her up for adoption; but then, I will not have anything to complain about. It will be boring, without her, won’t it?