Cats

I have two cats in my home, one black one white. The white one belongs to me, while the black one doesn’t. The black one, called New New, belongs to my dad. And it is peeing in my cat’s litter tray, instead of her own, as I am typing this.

The reason why New New belongs to my dad is because he was the one who picked her up from the streets, even after much protests from the family and Edward, which is my white cat. My dad insisted, and he insisted he wants a cat to himself, so now New new is here to stay. My way to deal with the problem is to be absolutely clear that I would not clean up after his cat, and let him know that rearing a cat is not a simple walk in the park. New new peeing in my cat’s litter tray threw a wrench in my perfect plan.

I have no idea why, but animals seem to like me–maybe because of some scent I have, or maybe I’m just very good at playing with them. The black cat spends almost all her time in my room when I’m home. This is not without its benefits. My white boy, the rebellious teenager, spends almost all his time keeping an eye on her. New new being in my room means that he is spending more time in his room (which is my room) too.

New new is still in the kitten phase–which means she is very playful, and she doesn’t mind human contact. Edward is long past the stage, and he is unusually fastidious, even for a cat. He would endure you stroking him for all of 5 seconds, then he would grumble very loudly and stalk off. He wasn’t like that when he was still a baby.

I think I am experiencing fatherhood way before I have kids.