What I would give to be a cat. Cats don’t pay rent, they don’t cry over breakups, and they don’t stress about politics. Cat’s are the luckiest animals on this planet, and they don’t even know it. Or maybe they do, the smug bastards.
I know that everyone says that their pet is the best, but trust me when I say that my cat is the best cat of all. If you put all the cats in the world together, Doc Fluffer would come out victorious. I don’t know how she would do it, I just know she would.
She may have never attended medical school, but she is totally qualified. I could come to her with a terrible case of the sadness, and one cuddle session later, I am cured! She banished the gloom better than any therapist I’ve seen, but I still go see them anyways. I couldn’t hurt my therapist’s feelings like that.
She has a spot that she has laid claim on. It’s the house’s rattiest pillow, but she won’t let me get rid of it, even after I buy her luxury beds. When I leave for work, she is snuggled in her spot, just purring away. When I return home hours later, she is still in the same place.
But I know she moved. Her litter box has been used, and her food is eaten, so she has left that spot. She had to have done more, no way she just slept the whole day away when the apartment was ultimately hers. I can’t help but imagine the trouble she gets herself into while away from watching eyes.
Maybe she figured out how to log in to my computer and browse the web for different cat treats and toys. That would explain the recommendations I get when shopping for her food and litter. If that’s the case, I would have to consider myself lucky she hasn’t figured out my credit card information.
She could have found out how to log into my social media pages, scrolls through the dumb post and questions how I could find humour in any of it. If I’m honest with myself, I have the same sense of humour a middle-aged mom has, mainly when the jokes included wine.
Perhaps she plays pranks on me. Hides the things I always seem to lose, stealing one from a pair of socks. The place that I find things is still so bizarre, and her fluffy face is there behind a corner when I make the discovery, but no matter how long I looked, I have never found any of the socks.
What if she gets busy snooping in my room? She goes through my closet and gets her silky fur all over my outfits. Naps on my delicate, hand wash, never dry dresses, That could be why lint rollers are always on top of my weekly shopping. I’ve probably got enough hair around here to make a toy cat.
Has she ever gotten into the locked draw in my nightstand? Picking the lock with her crazy long claws she hates getting clipped. Looking in at the contents inside, finding old pictures from my family and friends before I hopped on a train and took the most significant risk of my life.
Would she get scared when she saw the pocket knife my dad gave me before sending me off into an unknowing world? No, she was one fierce kitty, I bet she would instead insult the size of the blade. Doc Fluffer wouldn’t be the only armed and ready when a burglar decided to target our home. I just hope I never have to use it.
Maybe she snooped in my diary! Reading over the pointless entries I have made over the months, explaining the details of the minor cases of drama I experience. Would she laugh at my entries about the failed dates I have with strangers I met on a dating app? Would she laugh at my crushes on Darren from HR and Lucy from finance? I guess it is pretty laugh-worthy considering neither of them swings my way and are both happily married. I guess my dairy is something worth eating popcorn over.
What if she decided to venture beyond the walls of the apartment? Find a way to unlock the window and travel down the fire escape. She could be the one who ruins all of Mrs. Gander’s flowers on her windowsill, something I hear every time I run into her while grabbing the mail. Doc Fluffer is known for being a plant killer, my poor roses didn’t even last a single night.
Does she enjoy the view of the downtown shops? Bask in the smell of freshly baked bread from the bakery next door? Play all cute, begging for pets and treats from the shop owners and customers? I wouldn’t be surprised if she won the hearts of them all if she did put on her show.
Are there other cats she meets up with? Do they all get together and catch up like I do over the phone with my hometown pals? What would they even talk about? Cat treats? New brushes? Owner gossip?
Maybe there is some catnip dealing going on! Trading the missing sock for a gram of the good stuff, then getting it on in a big group. Does she get in a fight with street cats? I’ve never seen her with an injury or scratch, so if she has, then she was the winner. She would always be the winner because that’s just how awesome she is.
If she does all this stuff, how would she know when to go back before I come home? Maybe she has learned the sound my sneakers make when they hit the pavement, and that’s her cue to run back to our place. She memorized the perfect path back to our window, taking a break to terrorize Mrs. Gander’s plants once more before slipping back into the apartment.
Closing the window as I make my way up too many stairs, huffing while I wish the elevator would just get fixed. She cleans her paws off as I fumbled around my purse for the pairs of keys that somehow get lost in such a small space. As I open up the door, all evidence of her adventure gone, leaving Doc. Fluffer in her signature spot, ready to greet my tired self.
She could be doing all this stuff, and I would never even know it. But I know she is waiting to see me every day, just as I look forward to seeing her as well.
Maybe she goes and adventures, or perhaps she is just a lazy cat. Whatever she does, she is still the best cat for me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.