I changed my mind. I need to share.
I do not like cats, but one lives in my house. He’s a horrible creature. A neighborhood girl once wrote an essay about this cat, and sent it into a competition for most horrible cat. She won a trophy. Swear. To. God.
My youngest son wanted a little orange cat for who-knows-how-long, and being a personable little guy, he told everyone who would listen. Oh! Look at the cute little boy with freckles and big eyes! All he wants is a kitty to love! The cute little boy with freckles and big eyes already had a family dog and his own guinea pig and a tank full of fish, and I didn’t want a cat. But, several years ago, a well-intentioned neighbor brought us a tiny little orange kitten she found on a local trail, because she thought of my sweet boy when she found it. The kitten could barely walk and was far too young to be away from his mama, and I felt so good about saying we would keep him for the night because I was fairly sure he wouldn’t make it. I would get credit for being kind and caring for an animal in need, and yet I would not end up the owner of a cat. I didn’t want him to die, but really didn’t see how he could make it.
Three years later, and I have a cat who is held dear by my son and the two women in the neighborhood who have PhD’s in psychology. One of these women actually installed a doorbell for the cat on her back door, and taught him to use it. It makes her sad when he attacks her if she removes him from her bed to send him home. She wishes she could cuddle him. Seriously. Think about this before you return to therapy.
One of the creepiest things about the cat is the way he involuntarily tries to nurse when he sleeps. My son doesn’t mind, and finds it endearing to have the cat sleep on his chest and suck on his blankets. He’s learned to hold still so the the cat doesn’t get angry and bite him when he breathes too deeply.
I don’t care for this. I have rules about things sleeping on top of me, sucking on me in my sleep. Maybe this is why I’m single, but I do think it’s a healthy boundary I’ve set for myself.
Last night I mistakenly shut my bedroom door before I went to sleep. If the cat can come and go, then he and I have a working arrangement where he may be on my bed if he agrees to stay down by my feet. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night and he is sitting over me, staring, and this does make me nervous. But, last night I blew the peace and shut the door. I woke in the middle of the night to him barreling his little orange body against my door with such force I thought one of the kids was throwing themselves against it. I opened the door and in he strode, with his sex bear in his teeth. No. We are not having cat/bear lovin’ going on in my room in the middle of the night.
The sex bear is an old unclothed bear from Build-A-Bear which serves as… life companion to the cat. The cat and I have an arrangement about this, as well. What the cat does behind closed doors is his own business, but he and the bear must have a private relationship. Don’t ask, don’t tell. There is no point throwing the bear away, as the cat will only find a new stuffed sex toy, and I like knowing that only one thing in my house fills this need. I took the bear gingerly by the ear, and tossed it into my bathroom and shut the door.
Oh dear. I really thought the cat might hurt himself as he threw himself against the bathroom door again and again. And I wouldn’t get any sleep. I retrieved the bear and washed my hands. And for the next several hours the cat vacillated between attempting to nurse on the blankets by my face (and getting knocked off the bed for it), and making the sweet, sweet love to the naked Build-A-Bear on my floor, freaky sounds included. It was worse than sharing a room with a slightly slutty roommate in college, and I woke feeling dirty and angry that the cat has the best sex life of anyone I know.