baserinstincts

A Room of One’s Own - Addendum

A week or two ago, I was talking about my experiences shacking up.

It seems that in addition to not being able to hold onto a man, I can’t even keep my pets.

A little over a week ago, Ramses, my cat, jumped out of the window.

Right now you probably don’t see the relevance but stay with me here because this is very telling.

When I brought Ramses home, I had gone almost a year without a cat. For as long as I can remember I’ve had cats, up to five at once at one point.

Snookums, my baby, is residing with my mother currently. When I moved out I had every intention of bringing her with me, and I did. However after about a year in this apartment, which is quite small, I could tell that Snookums was bored and missed the space of my mother’s big house and the yard and the other pets.

When the ex and I went on vacation last summer, I brought her to my mom’s for safekeeping and feeding. When I returned, I decided it was best to leave her there. I felt like a mother who’d just given her child up for adoption, but it was what was best for Snookums.

And as you know, a few months later, the ex was gone too.

I was truly alone.

About a month ago I get a call from my mom saying that yet another cat has appeared on her doorstep and refused to leave (see the cats on the neighborhood talk to one another, they say “go to 622, they always take in strays”). She said she didn’t think the house could survive another cat (Ramses would have made the sixth, in addition to three dogs and a gerbil) and begged me to come pick him up.

I agreed but by the time I got there, my sister had already fallen in love with him and said I couldn’t have him (younger siblings, they’re such brats).

The next day my sister sends me a text message saying that Snookums and Mustache, hitherto mortal enemies, have united against the newcomer and that in order to save his life she has decided to let me have him.

I went to get him the next day. He was gorgeous. Sleek, black and sporting a pair of the biggest balls I’d ever seen on a cat (and no I wasn’t looking but they were hard to miss). He had a huge appetite and would soon have eaten me out of house and home.

In the second part of my post I likened my romantic nature to that of a cat’s saying:

I am at heart the cat. The loving yet fiercely independent cat that will rub against your feet, let you feed me and stroke me, make you think I adore you.

And then dash out as soon as you open the door to roam around the block.

I may return, and then again I may not.

And then a couple of days later the cat was gone.

It was if I had written it into existence.

My sister was pissed.

I had opened the window to get some fresh air in the apartment. Ten minutes later I couldn’t find Ramses.

My sister and I walked around the block looking for him but you won’t ever find a cat if he doesn’t want you to.

I hoped wherever he was he wasn’t hurt and was getting fed but I wasn’t as upset as I expected myself to be.

It was hard getting used to having another being in the place albeit a non-human one.

Suddenly, I had to worry about whether he was getting enough food, if his litter box was clean, getting him neutered, him pissing on my couch etc.

He wanted lots of attention. I wanted to write.

I slept at night, he didn’t.

And he did this annoying thing where he’d run around the place like a maniac and knock shit over.

He chewed on my plants.

As adorable as he was, his sudden presence in my life was quite trying at times.

Maybe he picked up on that. Or maybe he wanted to run away before I had his balls cut and he’s just fucking his way around the neighborhood. Whatever the reason, he saw his chance and dashed out the way I’d done many times before and will do again.

I can’t even be mad at him.

Maybe he’ll come back.

Or not.