So much has been happening.
- A cat lives with me. I live with a cat. Not metaphorically. And to answer my therapist’s question “Yes, a real cat. Yes, resident in my house. Yes, right now.” My home-mate P got him. His name is Taz. Fun fact about me: I love all animals. I pet dogs, horses, and cows alike, but am biased towards dogs. I have even tried to befriend goats. But cats I DO NOT get. From what I know of cats they are not prone to classical conditioning like dogs or humans are, and that’s where they lose me. I don’t get it. How do you ever make him stop scratching or biting? Ever. Anyway, he lives in the house, has a bathroom to himself, and sleeps where he pleases. You will find hundreds of photos of Taz on my phone sitting like a drunk man, propped against a pillow – scratched after a night out, maybe back from a fight, or with his collar and bell missing.
- I am here to clear misconceptions people have about cats. Cats are not as clean as they are famed to be. Not all cats drink/like milk (!!) My whole childhood was a lie. And no, they do not keep my house clean of insects. My dear Taz recently came face to face with a middle-aged cockroach. After his mother, P was done screaming out of the room climbing tables, Taz decided to approach Mr. Cockroach and set things straight. Basically, C ran, and T, chased. Taking advantage of his size, C hid under a table. T waited, with his body shaped like an ‘n’, nose stuck under the table, at a difficult angle, for 20 minutes! #RealistCartoonForAdults. Cutting to the climax, C is running across the room, T is fast. He uses his right paw to catch C and flips him over by mistake. C is stuck now, wings under him, legs in the air, immobile. Perfect chance for T to go for it (I am using this ambiguous phrase because I do not know what in a cockroach interests cat). Here is what T does: After 2 hours of roaming around trying to chase C, T pokes him as if to say “buddy, why aren’t you running, this is no fun.” C cannot move. T nudges again. And again. Till by mistake he flips C. C runs, so does T and the night goes on. P sleeps in my room. I am groggy the next day in the office.
- At other times, Taz has done things like spending a whole night in a polythene bag. Willingly. Snarling if anyone tries to take him out of the, ironically ‘Home center’ bag. Getting the bag stuck around his neck like a politician with a mala.
- We occasionally go around the neighborhood calling his name to find him. On one such day, P’s mother accompanied me – an elegant lady who speaks in literature, went around the colony calling out ‘Tozo, Tozo’ because she had forgotten Taz’s name and I did not have the heart to correct her.
- And lastly, the cat is out of the bag. I didn’t just write all this so I could say ‘the cat is out of the bag’. ‘cat is out of the bag’ is not even in my list of 25 favorite phrases. ‘Cat is out if the bag’ just fits well. But in an okay-ish, on the lower scale of amusing, not even in a tongue twisty sort of way.
Catisoutofthebag
Catisoutofthebag
Catisoutofthebag