I adopted a cat on the 11th of January this year.

Only recently have we started cuddling and purring in the early hours of the morning. When she is not pissing and shitting on my couch, she is the highlight of my day. Truthfully, even when she is pissing and shitting on my couch, she is a significant joy because she gives me something to do. She provides entertainment and I get to give myself a pat on the back for the patience and love I can extend to her despite her blatant lack of regard for my boundaries.

*pat pat*

Four weeks in, I was appalled at how little progress we had made. Convinced I had failed her by bringing her home, I blamed myself for her continued hiding.

Eight weeks in, I was touched by our first real encounter. Three nights in a row, I made myself dinner and sat on the floor of the guest bathroom, her favorite (only) spot in my apartment. She emerged from under the sink and circled me with hesitation, claws extended and spine arched high.

My dad warned me that she would steal my heart.

“Food is the key. You know that, right? Show her your are safe. Show her you will keep her fed.”

Ah, yes. Prove my utility. This is love,

right?

Two days ago, I ordered pheromone diffuser and cat urine enzyme spray online. A friend’s amazon account between me and forced intimacy, with hopes of a speedy delivery, I prioritize this little weirdo like I owe her something other than a safe and clean space to stay, food to wake to, water to sip. I want her to have a place up high off the ground to perch because that’s apparently something she enjoys. I want to buy her the little squeezable packets she seems to favor even though I have canned food galore and pellets overflowing.

I want something more than friendship.

Isn’t that clear?

She could drain my account dry, take one look at me with those eyes, and I’d never hold her accountable to a single penny of that gone-to-shit couch purchase.

Yesterday on a work call, I found out that some people walk their cats like they do their dogs.

Is she ready? Is it my job to get her ready? Is it my fault if she’s not? Would she be ready if I was better? more capable? more practiced?

Yesterday I posted her on my instagram story. And most people have no idea about the couch pissing. Most people don’t know the whole truth, thank Goodness.

How long until she lets me take her on a walk around the neighborhood? The two of us connected for the world to see?

Until You Know Better

Make your own peanut butter!

Remember not to try too hard…

Great Artists Steal

Check out “Modern Love” from The New York Times — support journalism that makes you ask questions