How to Live with Cats When You’re Not an Animal Person
The listing didn’t say anything about there being cats. It was when we met in person that she told me she had, not one but TWO cats. I’d been tirelessly looking for an apartment at the time when I came across what I’ve now called home for quite some time. The housing situation seemed so suitable for me that I completely ignored the fact that I’ve never been into animals and that the last time I voluntarily pet a cat I was about eight years old—decades ago.
Oh it can’t be that bad, I thought, revisiting in my head the times I’d gone to houses of people with cats. Those times, I saw cats hiding in the pantry—where food is stored; I saw cats climbing kitchen counters, cats sleeping in bowls, getting on couches and in beds, all while leaving behind an infinite trail of hairs. Okay, maybe it can be bad, I thought in retrospect. But I also remembered those cats leaving the house at some point.
I lived with cats on more than two occasions when I was little. They were my brother’s and they always went outside. There was one cat in particular that I loved. My brother named her “Unticun” (don’t ask) and she was adorable. I loved playing with her, stroking her white fur and holding her like a baby. She was a good cat — and she was always gone. I even missed her when she didn’t come home.
Because of the cats my family had, I thought it would be a totally doable situation. In the past, I even considered living with someone who wanted a cat. I can compromise, I said.
If lucky, these cats that I was about to live with as an adult would hopefully spend as much time outdoor as Unticun did. Boy, was I wrong.
“So, they’re indoor cats,” said my would-be new roommate, “and they can never be allowed outside.”
Please tell me it’s a joke.
What exactly would this mean? Believe it or not, I had never heard of indoor cats. I thought some cats just spent more time inside than others. Isn’t that cruel, anyway? I don’t agree with that, but that’s another story.
I was able to see what she meant by “indoor cats” very soon. These cats spent every single second, minute, and hour of the day inside this small house, sometimes spending hours a day at one specific spot. Indoor cats also meant the cat litter box was inside somewhere in the house—and somewhere happened to be next to my bathroom.
These cats would groom each other right at my feet, while I was cooking. These cats would hop on the kitchen counter, after a bathroom visit, and take long naps…over the counter. These cats would sometimes stare and meow at me and I’d have no idea what to do. They’d demand that I pet them — when I don’t think I even know how to do that. They’d try to sneak in my bedroom and bathroom and leave a hairy mess. They’d occasionally try to escape when I opened the door and I’d almost break a toe chasing after them. These cats, despite not going outside, would somehow eventually attract fleas.
So, how do you learn to live with cats when you’re not an animal person and you have a mild OCD problem?
You don’t. At least, I concluded that I cannot do it.
This brings me to this: I am very much aware that, in our society, people who refuse to live among animals are belittled by some animal people. There’s this myth that if you don’t like animals you must be a horrible person. Some animals don’t like people either, so what does that make them? The term is generalization—and it is never good to generalize.
The irony here, if I may speak for myself, is that I’m actually an extremely sensitive and compassionate being; an empath, if you will. So it disproves that “no-animal lover” theory that many like to push around. Don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, if you’re like me; it is OK not to be an animal person.
I must say that I have learned a lot about cats (for whatever it’s worth) and about patience while living under such circumstances, but something tells me that I won’t be trying this again anytime in the future.
