029 I Don't Have A Cat
Inside the Cat Distribution System
Nearly a year after I moved here some neighbours moved in with a cat. After a few months they asked if I could look after their cat as their pet sitter had fallen through at the last minute. I agreed, of course, because I love cats. I would’ve had my own by then, but I didn’t feel my house was very cat friendly yet.
I was told this was an outdoor cat. A little feline who had come up to rural Scotland from a city down south. The job was easy: call her each night, give her a pouch of food outside, and let her go on her way. Her parents told me that sometimes she doesn’t come home at night and that was OK. I figured she’d be like a barn cat, which is pretty common around here.
I’ve never had an exclusively outdoor cat. The cats I’ve had have been free to go out during the day, but at night they stayed in. Domestic cats love a routine, and it could’ve easily have been the other way around, so long as it was consistent.
My neighbours went away and left me with a box of food pouches for their outdoor cat.
When I called her in she was a little confused and nervous. I left the food outside, and went back in. She ate and left. That first week she didn’t come to my call every night, but I left the food for her and it was gone in the morning.
By the end of the second week she turned up every night, but she demonstrated some fairly anti-social behaviour that I expected from a cat that spent most of its time away from people. A lot of hissing. Enough swipes at my ankles to warrant me wearing leg warmers to protect my ankles. Biting.
Film: ‘Anti-Social Behaviour’ (2024)
She’d figured out that I had food for her. That was all that mattered. Her parents returned, grateful that their little semi-feral princess was still around.
Winter came and her parents asked me if I would be able to look after her while they were away again. They assured me that even if I went away she would be fine as they sometimes didn’t see her for days on end.
I don’t think her parents considered how miserable Scottish weather could be in winter. Negative degrees celsius. Very windy. Snow. It’s kind of miserable for anyone, but perhaps especially for a little cat that was used to a southern city.
I let her inside to eat, and once she was done she indicated that she wanted to be outside. Here is how that went.
Film: ‘Nope’ (2024)
She seemed very grateful to be out of the wind and rain. She loudly purred, and allowed me to pat her. No hissing. No swiping my ankles.
We tried some cuddles. I would sit or lie down on the couch, and allow her to be in control of how close she got to me. It started with her snuggling against my thigh with a cuddle roll, and progressed to her sitting on my tummy and chest.
Cats don’t always understand that digging their claws into you hurts. They definitely don’t understand that digging their claws into your piercings hurts extra. Or maybe she did, given how I yelped. I haven’t let her sit on my tummy or chest since.
Around this time we had a 10 minute slow blinking session that melted me. I’m pretty sure falling in love feels a lot like gaining the trust of a cat. Maybe they’re the same thing.
I do love cats. I had them growing up. They’re hilarious, fully of contradictions and complexity. They take themselves far too seriously for a creature without opposable thumbs, and I love the fact that they are discerning.
I don’t know why people hate cats. I can understand being allergic to them, and not wanting to be around them, but to straight up say you hate cats makes me think there is something else going on.
You see, cats are masters of setting and keeping boundaries, and I suspect that the folks who say they hate cats actually just hate that cats have boundaries they can’t cross. If a cat doesn’t want you to touch them, you will know about it in no uncertain terms. Cats teach very clear lessons in consent.
I think the problem (if it is in fact a problem) started around this time. Not only was she getting fed inside my place, but she also learned that wind, rain, and snow were optional. Sure, she turned up for food, but now she wouldn’t eat it outside.
The problem (and this was a problem) was that my house was not cat friendly. No litter tray. Too many hiding places I can’t easily access, but a cat sure can. I was constantly worried that she was going piss or shit or vomit somewhere I couldn’t get to easily. Plus, she’s not my cat. I don’t have a cat. She belongs to the neighbours. She’s an outdoor cat.
She’s also not the kind of cat I would have chosen to adopt. I wouldn’t have chosen a long haired cat. Nor a female cat. Nor one that could have any kind of pedigree. Give me a short-haired ginger, black, or tabbie boy any day. I want a cat I can cuddle. That is not her.
She is at least part Maine Coon, and having only cohabited with tabbies before, I wasn’t sure what their temperaments were like. Someone told me they were “kind of notorious [for] having a very limited amount of love for humans. They have one or two people they'll be nuts about, but outside of that they can be hostile or ignore them.” Which made me wonder, was I also at least part Maine Coon?
I looked like the world’s dumbest hockey goalie each time I had to get her out of my house. Leg warmers and closed toe slippers on, a broom in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other. She hates the sound of plastic bags. I had to close every door in my house, and set up an obstacle course blocking her path to rooms without doors.
Of course I felt like a fucking monster putting a tiny cat outside. But her parents had assured me, she loved being outside. Preferred it.
But there was growing evidence to the contrary.
She started coming by to scratch and meow on my doors until I let her in. I would send her parents screenshots from the door camera, asking them to come get her.
Her parents went away for work again. The weather in Scotland did Scottish things. It was down to -9C, the wind and the rain were miserable by anyone’s standards. I reluctantly bought a litter tray for the cat that isn’t mine. The moment I showed it to her, she got in it and pissed. Great. She was a quick learner. I’m glad she figured it out.
I couldn’t let her stay outside in -9C overnight. So, she had her first sleepover. I closed off my office and my bedroom, she had free rein over the rest of the house. At 4am she scratched on my bedroom door. I thought she was hungry or wanted to go outside, but it turns out she was just checking on me.
The first sleepover was a turning point. She realised she didn’t have to be outside in the cold overnight. There was a comfy spare bed, a comfy couch, food, and company when she felt like it.
Film: “The Outdoor Cat” (2024)
Her parents returned, but if I opened the door to go out, or just see what the weather was like, she would rush inside. Too quick for me to catch, or even see sometimes. There have been at least half a dozen times when I have gone out, only to come home to find her in my house, without a clue on how she got in.
My anxiety over having her in the house became a topic in therapy. I have seen my therapist’s cats walk across the screen sometimes, she is very much a cat person.
I mentioned to my therapist that I was aware that I was working through some attachment issues with the cat. In many ways both the cat and I are working through our attachment issues with each other.
We both have avoidant attachment styles. Hers is definitely more of a fearful avoidant style. She wants to be close, but doesn’t know how to deal with being close to someone. She learned that pats feel good, but she hadn’t figured out that if she gets overstimulated she can just walk away instead of bite me.
Perhaps it is embarrassing to admit that I have spoken to my therapist about my situationship with the cat that isn’t mine. I don’t like talking about the cat with my therapist because I could be talking about my fucked up childhood and dead family, but instead I waste time talking about how looking after the cat can set me on edge.
I go into hyper-vigilance mode and worry about where she is, what mood she’s in, has she been hurt, is she healthy, is she pregnant, have I hurt her, has someone fed her, is she getting into something she’s not supposed to be in, has she done a shit or pee somewhere, and most importantly, she is not my cat.
Rather than having “a furry pal to co-regulate with”, as my therapist imagined it, I have a small, vulnerable creature I’m responsible for, but isn’t mine, that I worry about constantly, and can’t pick up without being scratched and bitten.
I’m so glad I never had kids.
I am often torn between figuring out a way to get the cat outside, and working through the reasons why I feel like I should put her outside.
One might say, ‘It’s not that deep’ and I’d have to agree with them. It’s glaringly, obviously sitting there on the surface, staring me in the face. Don’t worry, I know it’s all related.
After this realisation, I just gave up trying to get her outside. I couldn’t be bothered to deal with the bites and the swipes, so I just left her to it. She would find somewhere to sleep for a few hours, wake up and wander into the office to check on me, get some pats, have a little chat, and then go back to sleep somewhere. I’d get her parents to call her for dinner.
Perhaps it was an error of judgement, but I bought her a turkey feather toy. I figured she was missing out on her time outside where she could chase after birds and whatever else she could find. She loves her toy.
The weather has improved, but a few weeks ago her parents caught her waiting for me even though their door had been open the entire time. They even messaged me about it.
We have had several conversations about how their cat loves hanging out with me. They also say that she hates hanging out at their place. I feel guilty about that.
It’s not every day, but it is most days, the cat that isn’t mine invites herself in or knocks on the door, and makes herself comfortable. There is something like a routine. Pats in the hallway first. Then she’ll either go to get on the spare bed, or under it, to sleep for a few hours. She’ll then come in to the office to check on me, make sure I’m still here and alive.
She then assumes her sentry position either on the window sill in my office, or on top of the couch in the lounge room. She’s terrible at sentry, by the way. Always falls asleep. When she wakes again I message her parents to let them know she’s probably ready for dinner, and they call her in.
I listen to music when I’m doing housework, and if she happens to be inside when this happens I’ll sing to her. We had a very touching moment while I sang ‘All Around You’ by Sturgill Simpson at her. She slow blinked and purred like a V8. I think she liked it. It was so moving I cried. It’s a beautiful song, and she and I shared a special moment.
If she hears me pottering around at midnight or 1am, she will be at a door trying to get in. And I have to confess that sometimes I let her in. She’s just a little cat. She just wants a quiet place to sleep. I also sleep with ear plugs in so that I don’t hear her scratch on my bedroom door at 4am to check up on me.
I think the cat likes it here because it’s not noisy. There are loads of kids, dogs, sheep, cows, ATVs, dirt bikes, and all sorts of other sounds, but they are mostly down the road from me. She’s is not a fan of any of them, and has scratched at the door all puffed up from being scared of something.
Her parents asked me to look after her again in a couple of weeks. I agreed because of course I will. She’s just a little, anti-social cat who is getting used to being around a human. I’m a big, anti-social human who is getting used to being around a cat again. I’ll feed her. I won’t chase her out of my house, unless I think she’s getting too unruly. I won’t demand too much of her sentry shifts. There will be food, a soft bed, a turkey feather toy, pats if she wants them, songs when I clean up, and safe, quiet place.
I don’t have a cat, but she has me.
THIS WEEK:
Most listened to song: 'All Around You' by Sturgill Simpson
Favourite thing I’ve watched: I’ve watched a lot of instructional videos this week.
Favourite thing I’ve read: I’ve read a lot of instructions this week.
I’m most excited by: Creativity.