On Cats

by Kylee Walton

The precious, classic household pet. However, I am in the opinion that the word “pet” is the last title a cat should have. 

I didn’t grow up with cats for the most part. I remember in the first grade watching my mom smuggle a cat into our apartment. My sister and I giggled as we trailed behind our mom, who was holding a giant, completely ambiguous box with some brand name slapped on the side of it (I can’t remember if it was Petco or something like that). Then we freed the cat inside our home. Her name was Pepper. I can’t recall who named her.

Our apartment had a small balcony where my mom smoked, and I remember Pepper joining her outside and lounging about. I’m assuming this is how our landlord found out about Pepper, but I don’t know for sure. Either way, our landlord was okay with Pepper as long as she didn’t tear up the apartment. We soon moved out of the apartment and into my moms boyfriend’s house. Pepper came with us. This is when she became an outdoor cat. 

When I discovered the large debate about outdoor cats as an adult, I was rather surprised. I had always grown up with outdoor cats. Even the cat my moms boyfriend had was also an outdoor cat. I thought it was a more common occurrence. It’s generally advised to keep cats indoors because they greatly affect the bird population and it also leaves them vulnerable to predators and diseases. Of course, my child self did not consider this at all—even when we moved out of the boyfriend’s house, didn’t bring Pepper with us, and was later informed that she hadn’t come back to the house and had probably been eaten by a fisher. 

Back then, when I was told all of this, I was particularly confused as to why my mom was so nonchalant about the whole thing. Did she forget how we smuggled Pepper in together?

We haven’t gotten another cat since.

My family were always, and still are, dog people. Dog people until they perish. They’re specifically fond of poodles. Every time I suggested getting a cat, the response was clear and direct.

“Fuck no.”

Okay fine, I’ll just get a cat after college, is what I told myself.

I somehow obtained a cat halfway through college. Not through adoption, not through any intentional means. She started sleeping under my porch and soon migrated inside. She has spent the past year with me. 

After getting my cat through these means, I began to feel weird referring to her as, “my cat.” Yes, I care for her and feed her, but I don’t feel any sense of ownership over her. I don’t mean this in an inconsiderate way; I mean that I feel strange proclaiming any sense of ownership over her because she is her own creature, her own spirit that just happened to start staying with me. She is more of a roommate than a pet. Of course, I treat her like any standard pet owner would. I pet her, play with her, and make strange noises at her until she swats me away. She sits with me on the couch, she sits on my lap when I’m seated at my desk, she falls asleep with me most nights. I love the little cat. 

She’s also an outdoor cat, which never caused any issues until fairly recently. We missed one of her flea treatments last month but didn’t think much of it, even though we had a flea scare a few months prior to that. Not even a day later after we missed the treatment, my partner and I found our apartment infested with fleas. 

I say infested, but it truly wasn’t that bad in comparison to the horror stories I’ve seen online. Still, it was a week of hell. I remember not sleeping, scratching at my flea-bitten ankles, missing a bunch of assignments, spending so much time and money at the laundromat, hoarding everything I owned into my car, and losing my job the same week. I remember how everything in my life turned sour at the exact same time. All spearheaded by my little cat bringing in fleas.

Despite all this turmoil, I only looked at my cat with love. Looking back, I realize that I showed no signs of anger to her at all. I only remember feeling really bad for her because the whole situation disrupted her comfortability. 

For the longest time I’ve seen animals above humans, and I still do, because they have an innate sense of wonder for the world. They experience life so differently, but we’re still able to share these unique bonds with them. It all fascinates me really. With dogs, they’re bound to you no matter what. With cats, there’s more work that needs to be put in, more trust to be built. I think that’s what makes a relationship with a cat feel so rewarding, so exciting, and ultimately very gratifying. It’s the epitome of love to come home to a cat who, the second it sees you, flops to the floor and stretches, beckoning you to come say hi.