This year, I’ve thought a lot about cats. Most of my friends and family have been very aware of my obsession, but those who weren’t probably realised when I threw a birthday party for one. A cat, that is. My cat.
Aside from my grandparents’ dog who died when I was 3, I didn’t grow up around pets. About 5 years ago though, my mum, dad and brother adopted a dog and took him into our family home.
It’s not that I didn’t like cats – I was just neutral about them. I never suffered from the urge to pet strays and when I found myself in a cat café once I wasn’t praying for the four-legged creatures to come over and demand my attention.
And then, my soul cat entered my life.
My ex-boyfriend had 2 felines: a mother and her daughter whom he rescued from the streets. However, he didn’t have the daughter neutered and was careless enough to let her out of the house – a recipe for impregnation. That pregnancy resulted in 4 healthy kittens wreaking havoc across his family’s cluttered house. I met them a few days after they were born. Cute, I thought, as tiny four-legged beings went.
His family was hoping to find adopters but as the weeks went by and I’d been around their extreme cuteness often, I offered to take one. “You know? Only to foster. Just to help out,” I reasoned.
“The night my ex (temporarily) migrated to another country, I dropped him off at the airport and I drove home with a disoriented 5-month-old kitten. I joke that I switched one male out for another that night.”
Did I have a preference, my ex asked?
I pointed to one of the 3 tuxedo-clad kittens, the one with a long black mark between his eyes. “That one,” I said. There was something about him.
The night my ex (temporarily) migrated to another country, I dropped him off at the airport and I drove home with a disoriented 5-month-old kitten in a carrier. I was unaware that the next few months would bring a drastic personality change (my ex’s, not mine) and a confusing break-up. I joke that I switched one male out for another that night.
Chandler, I named this cat. I liked the character from Friends well enough, and the name sounded like the moniker (Monica?) his previous family had been calling him. Over the next few months, we got used to each other. We battled over space and disagreed on how to use things. I didn’t think, for example, the kitchen counter was the place for a cat to be sauntering around on. He, however, saw it as the perfect kick off point for his latest parkour move. Chandler didn’t understand why agonising howls escaped me when he tore up my wooden floorboards. I, however, could not imagine why he felt it was so important to investigate whether something was under there. There was not.
His behaviour (waking me up throughout the night) and my hitherto unknown cat allergy rearing its head (now all but gone), all led my ex to one day ask if he should arrange for Chandler to be taken back. “Try to take him away from me and you’ll be the one cut out from my life,” I shouted. Well, he’s gone now anyway, so it all worked out.
“I have gotten used to Chandler’s quirks, like his incessant need to sit in the kitchen sink or stick his butt in my face. My Monica-esque OCD need to keep my house spotless has been at odds with Chandler’s willy-nilly fur shedding. But we have managed to see past these differences.”
Since this trial period, I formally adopted Chandler. Signed, sealed, registered – he’s mine. Or more appropriately, I am his. Since then, we have moved house and he reigns over my apartment from his 7-foot-high cat tree. I have gotten used to his quirks, like his incessant need to sit in the kitchen sink or stick his butt in my face. My Monica-esque OCD need to keep my house spotless has been at odds with Chandler’s willy-nilly fur shedding. But we have managed to see past these differences.
He’s been around through my ambiguous breakup from his previous care-giver. I got spectacularly sloshed that week and shouted at Chandler: “You’ll stay with me forever!” He meowed bewilderingly, and I imagined he was saying, “Obviously, yes. Why wouldn’t I want to?” This tuxedo darling was there to cuddle up to me when I contracted Covid-19. I wore a mask throughout my quarantine in my own home, petrified I would somehow pass it on to him. He sits with me when I have to work late into the night, never leaving my side. When I complained to a friend that Chandler is annoyingly vocal and very needy, he clapped back at me, “I always did say cats take on the worst qualities of their owners.” We’re still friends. I appreciate those who tell me the truth.
I believe that everyone enters your life for a reason, and my ex was sent to me for no other reason than to allow me to find Chandler. My soul cat. He’s saved me in more ways than he knows. And for that, I will continue to obsess over him.
This is the first one!
Thank you for reading! Merry Christmas! 🎄