Chris Milne Writes: Poetry, Philosophy and Essays

Inspired by some prolonged eye-contact with my cat this morning, as he lay on my lap as I attempted to start my day writing…

I think far too many of you put the cart before the horse. When your feline friend makes any demand on your time, I imagine a common remark must be on the lines of: “Oh yes, my sweet friend, I would love to pet you, and comfort you my darling, but alas, my zoom is calling!”. The simple message being: ‘not now, I am busy’. Busy working to make money, busy cooking dinner, busy relaxing after the gym; as us moderns usually are, just busy staying busy.

I fell into this trap when I first adopted my cat in late January this year, after my basement neighbor abandoned him in my five-plex building when he moved out. It was a time of learning to dance to the movements of life with a new partner. At first, it was difficult (to be fair, it still is) to try to make new time, develop new habits, and learn what it’s like to be responsible for a cat. It took some growing pains, as I have never owned a cat before, and grew up mostly around dogs. It also took some time for him to adjust to a new space, a new person, and I’m assuming a much less tumultuous life.

My cat is certainly traumatized – the single piece of hard evidence I have is the round, plasticky-blue-object lodged under the skin, on his neck, right behind his ear. What is it? Even his vet wasn’t sure – our best guess now is that it is likely a small BB fired from a BB gun, maybe during a time when my cat was homeless. His ownership history is marred with mystery; his vet suggested that “this is the most bizarre situation for a cat I have dealt with” – unaware the nudge on my confidence as a new-cat-owner he dented in the moment – his life sure is a story. Originally named Razor, this (once thought female cat, until I took him to the vet) poor 10-year-old feline has had at least three owners, with myself being his fourth. His first two, to the astonishment of myself and my cat’s veterinarian, are in a no-contact legal dispute for reasons we are not sure of (hence why I cannot find out more about this cat). Apparently, he was lost by the first owner, found by the second, stayed with them for a few years, reported by the second owner missing for at least three years once I had found him, and was with my basement neighbor for at least as long as I lived here before I got the cat, which was 6 months.  

I’ve had him coming up to 8 months now. I’m an alright Cat-Dad (as I was made aware that this is my new title). I don’t clean his litter often enough; I don’t provide him with enough toys and distractions… yet, and I probably don’t play with him as much as I should. He has warmed up to me though, and others now too; it is apparent why his name is Baby, as he is always-lord-willing and longing for the next moment where he will be picked up and held against your chest. If you’re lucky enough, and pay enough attention to his little physical preferences, you can get him on your chest, starring deeply into your eyes, with him about 3-5 inches from your face; if you’re so very careful and patient, you can lightly rub the side of his hind legs, right near the crease of his spine, kind of slowly and methodically, with the side of your finger – and in response, with the always slightly drooled left corner, he will rub his moist face on yours, kissing you almost – in my mind, it is the clearest affirmation that I Am Doing Alright as a Cat-Dad.

But despite that, he is a bit of needy cat – the irony in my loner-autistic-self getting distributed a traumatized black cat named Baby is apparent, yes. He cries to be held a decent amount, wants me to turn on the heated blanket for him now that it’s getting colder, and cries to go onto another balcony adventure. A few sad times, he went back into the hallway and stairwell where I would sit with him when he was abandoned before I adopted him. He then proceeds to go back to his old owner’s door; them being gone of course, but Baby not possessing that knowledge, or even just not wanting to accept it, will scratch at the door and cry out for his old owner.

I try my best to affirm him, but alas, it always breaks my heart when I cannot: “I don’t have enough time, enough spoons, and I am sorry my love”. As someone who is generally generous with my time, it is a sad truth that I do not have more time to give my cat the best life, because right there is the key kernel I felt, holding him in my lap that morning: how you spend your time is the deciding factor in the quality of life your cat will have.

When you say, no no, I am busy, I imagine (yes, I am an autistic utilitarian-at-times, I am sorry) the little utile above his head going down, one more dint in the quality-of-life of my feline friend that I am responsible for.

And so, in this moment:

With him curled up in my lap, looking into my soul, nudging me to never forget the sacred promise I made to him, the night I closed my apartment door, this time, him staying with me, forevermore: “I am now, yours; through sickness and health, through pain and joy, through the cries of wanting love, and a wet face due to *drool covered kisses*.” And with that sacred promise in view, I realized an important truth for all of us Cat-Parents-in-Training: Don’t forget, you only work when you have your cat’s purrmission. After all, it is part of the deal you struck, no, when adopting (or in my case, being adopted by) your feline friend? You owe them a sacred responsibility: you must carve out new space in your life plans, that considers the wants and needs of this little creature too.

For when we adopt our feline friends, we alienate our cats from, as Anna Tsing would call it, their “living-space entanglement”. By this, Tsing reminds us that the living things we interact with have a history too. Your cat was born to something, belonged to someone and was loved, was created; your cat was not dropped off by Dr. Stork at the breeder 25 minutes before your first play-visit. When taking on the responsibility of Cat-Parent, you are necessarily alienating that creature from (I’m sorry if this hurts, but it’s true) where they belonged. Everyone, no matter how terrible your parents are, belong to where you came from – this history is irrevocably enshrined in your entity. And so, with our cats, we do not notice that we are severing this history, this belonging, when we adopt a feline friend and bring them into our strange world.

 I am reminded of the section On Children, from Khalil Gibran’s masterpiece ‘The Prophet’ – if we are embracing the Cat-Parent title, are we not too then, the bows in which our Cat-Children will be sent off into the future? By raising ourselves to the title of Cat-Parent, we too then must raise the responsibility of Pet-Ownership closer to Parenthood Proper. And if that’s the case, would so many of us not fail in the respect of considering the needs and wants of our feline friends; seeing them this way, maybe you would clean up after them more often, feed them more regularly, and take their crying for attention just a bit more seriously.

            It helped me a little, recognizing that yes, I am now provider of sanctuary, security; provider of food and regularity – I am Cat-Dad, I am Provider, and I am Proud; proud to provide the best possible life for my feline friend. I recognize, just as parents must: our infallibility, our imperfections, our lack of being able to be the best Parent; alas, it is in our humble bowing to our responsibility to others that we become who we are… oh, is that my Baby calling?…