I always wanted a cat. I like the stupid little furballs. Can’t help it. I know it’s irrational and expensive and environmentally suboptimal and you’re basically just setting yourself up for inevitable heartbreak, but when they bump their dumb soft heads into me I melt like a chocolate bar on the dash of a black car in the August sun.
My Dad was allergic to cats, so I wasn’t allowed to have a cat. Then my Dad left and I still wasn’t allowed to have a cat. In retrospect that’s pretty suspicious, Mom. My college had an extreme zero tolerance policy for pets: they caught this one dude red-handed and called animal control to come murder his pet snake. Then someone in that same dorm burned a bag of popcorn and the sprinklers wouldn’t shut off, flooding the entire building and destroying everybody’s shit. I’ve never been a big fan of the “snake guy” archetype but no one deserves that degree of irony.
In my first apartment, I wasn’t allowed to have a cat because there was a cat quota which was already filled by my roommate, whose cat hated me. That cat would wait until I brought a girl over and then walk up to us while we were making out and just piss right there in the middle of the floor, making eye contact with me. At the time I really had no idea how devastating cat urine can be to a rental property.
I stayed there for way too long because I hate moving. You know when you start to hate everyone who lives in a city, like it’s their fault that your personality grew out of that lifestyle? Time to go. I carefully selected only rental units with pet clauses, paid everyone in the world, and slowly realized that the carpet was saturated with cat urine from the last tenant. I report this to the property manager, who reports it to the property owner, who replies back to the property manager, who tells me, “Yeah, no more pets.”
So now I’m sitting in a townhouse that smells like cat piss, waiting weeks for these colossal dipshit moron douchebag numbskulls who installed carpet all over a pet rental to go through the doomed process of paying a series of professionals to tell them that you can’t actually get crystallized uric acid out of a carpet pad, and I’m still not allowed to have a fucking cat.
That is um. A lot to go through. I’m so sorry to hear about that. Talk about irresponsible owners!
I adopted a cat we named Lily several years ago. She was just a stray kitten who would come around my ex’s dad’s shop, and he threatened to kill her if she didn’t stop coming around. My ex’s younger sister was horrified and begged us to adopt her. Lily lived with us for a year or so until we broke up, and since my ex was allergic he wanted me to take her. Done!
I moved back home to deal with my health issues and brought Lily. Then I started talking to my now-partner, then-LD. I was only planning a short trip but ended up moving out sooner than I anticipated. My dad told me it was no problem and he would watch her until I was settled in and ready to take care of a pet again.
The bastard lied: he had the balls to tell me that SHE was more a part of the family than I was, so he would be keeping her. He offered me $300 to adopt a new cat (which like, would have been nice but fuck you!!)
That all happened a few years ago and only within the past several months have I started to think I might be ready to love another cat.
Why can’t we just own cats in peace!!!
Cat theft is its own mortal sin, but what a deep wound, to disown someone for a creature which can love only itself! If my own mother appropriated my kitty I’d pee on her stuff.
(I’m not 100% on the tone of your story so apologies if this is insensitive to trauma. I hope it’s funny.)