Life with Cats

Ever get the feeling that sometimes the universe is just not in your favour?

Like karma is a wave, and sometimes it buries you and other times it allows you to float peacefully at the top; like a lily in a Koi pond or a bug in jello?

Well, the first thing that happened when I arrived home from my NYE trip was to get laid off from my job and receive another cat.

It’s a reality of life that some months just aren’t yours to win. And others feel in balance- wonderful even.

Most of January I coped with this realisation via the very adult activity of laying awake at night-  for the first time in my life-  with all these crippling uncertainties laying next to me. 

And a line up of question marks, like cats, something I seemed to now collect, pet and feed. 

Where were we all going to live next month?

Why did I have 3 animals at 24? 

Should I give back a cat- but which one? 

Was I getting depressed?

With all these uni prerequisites saying no, was I going to be able to do the subjects I first thought- 

will I not be able to graduate next year?

Will I still have my job next week? Next month?

Will I like myself better with hair extensions?

And Just Like That- not only was Chris Noth abso-fucking-lutely a rapist, but my New Years positivity had vanished. 

Hello 2022.


Did you say 3 – like 3 whole pets?”  

“ No…”  I said to Gary, the barista, towards the end of January. 


“I mean yes… but it feels more like 2….  and a rat, that I only see sometimes… “


“Like, seeing all three all the time would be like a blood-moon or getting a mani, pedi and a spray tan. Like who has that much money? “

“ You apparently.” 

“Nice Gary. Why don’t you just spit in my coffee?”


I’m starting to realise 3 pets were the number you get when you’ve spent years in hospitality and satisfied that you hate people. Or your whole family dies in a car-crash.

It was not the number for a 24-year-old, who was planning on moving overseas in 4 years. 

I think I had said yes to 3, because I’ve never lived alone and I was a bit nervous about it, come this year.

I originally wanted one cat just to keep my dog happy, while I was at uni. Buying a second cat, I could partially blame on the adoption agency.

The foster carer gave me the ultimatum that I could only adopt the cat I fell in love with, if I adopted another. And then to really sell it, the carer told me in detail a terrible story about a single cat that ended up being sent back and now lives on medication. 

Anyway, so after I received the felines, I then realised how expensive cat litter for 2 cats was, and vaccinations and food each weeks… And I just got a little too overwhelmed by it all.

I then rang the adoption place and told them that the trial had to end and I couldn’t keep one, however it was already too late. 

It felt this little kitten was my heart being ripped out of my chest. Fluffy and multicoloured, lounging suggestively on the floor. And then when I tried to give up the other, my heart then morphed into that cat. All white and grey with pale blue eyes. Gus would prefer to play with my dog rather than a string toy or plastic mouse.

But what I was realising was, that was cats. They make their way into your soul with tiny moments of love and a whole lot of stabbing; somewhat tangy but sweet.

Synonyms included insomniacs, anxiety-pandas or even mobsters who sleep in fur-coats with knives strapped to their bodies; cats were like finding a new drug. 

You only really understand, once you take it. 

Transitioning to becoming a cat person is very weird and yet I found they were my favourite, most unexplainable things to come home to. 

I also always thought ‘cat people’ just wanted the independent version of dogs, and who’s diets included toxic relationships, conditional love and the thrill that came from gambling games like Russian Roulette… But I was definitely wrong.

When I finally made the arrangements for 1/2 cats to go to a friend, I didn’t feel any less stressed nor better. Doing the right thing for the cats actually made me feel worst.

But I guess making the right, tough decision was another sour taste of adulting. With both outcomes so similar and yet so uncertain; you could choice either. Which is possibly why it’s so hard to just pick one.

I think adopting these cats reaffirmed to me that I was still a child, even at 24. 

Or maybe that I was only human and capable of not making the best decisions all the time…

Idk which was answer was more right- but I did know that instead of bonding with one cat more and feeling worst about it all- I needed to escape. 

So, I set off on my bike with Loui riding in the basket, to get as far away from my guilt as possible.

At the water front, I threw big flat noodles into my mouth, hoping to feel better.

After a while, it started spitting. And yet, people just kept walking.

It looked like a million little tap dancers or tears falling, making a billion more circles. It was so beautiful.

I think people should put it on their bucket lists along with seeing the Eiffel Tower; watching it lightly rain at night, with multicoloured lights of the city, splashed across the water.

On the way home, the air was crisp and the smells extra sweet.  I played music as I felt Loui’s head gently bob next to my leg, with his tongue stick out when we would pick up speed. 

Bike rides at night always help me sleep; like church for restless minds. 

Where the world goes quiet, and your body and mind find peace.

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