Cat Person

Pepper and Opie, posing for their new album cover.

If you’ve come here looking for the short story Cat Person by Kristen Roupenian that was published in The New Yorker and went all viral and landed the author a big fat book deal — well, sorry. That’s over here.

This is a post by little old non-viral me, about this weird thing that’s happened recently in our household: We’ve become People With Cats, plural.

I’ve never really considered myself a “cat person,” despite the fact that I’ve co-habitated with cats for the better part of my existence. Growing up, my family always had a cat or two. When Alastair and I first moved in together, we got a small gray cat, Ella, who was with us through marriage, a move to Iowa and back, and the first five years of the girls’ lives. After a brief period of mourning when she died at the ripe old age of 14, (conveniently, actually, as it was right before Clio was diagnosed with cancer — we wonder if Ella sensed this), we adopted Opie, our orange tabby, in 2013.

So, yes, I like cats. I find their aloof, no-shits-given attitude sort of funny (and at times I relate), their cuddliness cozy, and the way they play — the pouncing and chasing and stalking — also pretty funny.  They amuuuuse me. And they amuse Alastair, too.  Dogs also amuse me, and I’m generally fine with them, but I don’t like the licking and the jumping, the smell, or the fact that they have to be taken outside to do their business, which can put a cramp in one’s freewheeling lifestyle. (Please don’t talk to me about how gross it is that cats go in litter boxes and then walk around your house and how dogs are more loyal and smarter and actually care about their owners or whatever. I know, I know, I know.)

Pepper and Opie engage in their favorite pastimes, rolling on the floor and chewing plastic, respectively.

OK, maybe I’m a cat person. Just not the kind who, you know, has decorative cat-themed throw pillows or a bumper sticker on my car that says “My cat is a Republican.” (Especially since cats are clearly Libertarians). I could live without a cat.

Case in point: Our orange tabby, Opie. He can be kind of an asshole. He eats anything in sight, and is shameless about jumping up onto counters and tables, which means we can’t leave any food out uncovered. Huge pain in the butt when I’m cooking, or we’re getting ready to serve a meal. And forget about eating buffet-style.  He also has a bad plastic chewing habit, which means we can’t leave anything plastic — bags, packages of food, etc. — out and unattended. AND, when he’s hungry and wants to be fed or is bored or in a pissy mood or whatever, he knocks shit off of surfaces. (The things he’s broken ….) And chews paper. (The checks we’ve had to have reissued….)

The worst part, though, is that he sometimes got aggressive. He pounced and scratched at random, unexpected moments.  The girls were frequently terrified of him and for this reason we actually considered giving him back up for adoption. (Though every time we brought this possibility up, the girls protested vehemently.)

See how I switched to past tense there for that last paragraph? PLOT TWIST!!

Elsa had this theory that if we got another cat, it would give Opie an outlet for his excess energy, and he’d be less bored and would stop being pouncy. (She didn’t say it in exactly those words, but close.) We resisted for a long time. We liked having a cat, but we didn’t want to be PEOPLE WITH CATS.

But one thing led to another, the kids wore us down, various life events happened, and the upshot is that back in May we adopted a three-month-old rescue kitten, Pepper.  She’s black with a little bit of white on her bib and belly, a cute, pointy little face and big ears, and I am totally and completely smitten with her.

I didn’t feel this way about Opie when we got him. I don’t know if this is a 40something-approaching-menopause-knowing-I’ll-never-have-another-baby thing, or a not-getting-her-while-our-daughter-is-being-treated-for-cancer thing (like Opie) or a the-world-is-going-to-hell-but-at-least-there-is-this-kitten thing or what.  Maybe it’s just her personality. She’s very sweet and curious and playful and intrepid. I feel very fond and protective of her.

JESUS I SOUND LIKE A CAT PERSON.

“Where are we going?! What are we going to do now?! Are we gonna play?! Can we play?! You’re my best friend and I love you! Do you love me?! Am I your best friend too?!”

But Opie does play a role in the joy of having Pepper. (Poor Opie; I don’t hate him. I just find him challenging to love.) Because Pepper freaking adores Opie. Follows him around the house, rubs up against him, even leaps over him like the dog in that old Kibbles ‘n Bits commercial from the 80s.  (In fact, the voice of the little dog in that commercial is almost exactly how I imagine — and sometimes imitate — Pepper’s voice, if she had one.)

Sometimes it’s clear that Opie’s barely tolerating her. He gives us looks like “Why? Why did you do this to me? Did I ever give any indication that I wanted a baby sister?” Other times, he’s clearly having fun wrestling with and chasing / being chased by her. There are  times when he tells her to f**k off, in the form of a hiss.  But also times when the two of them will snooze together, paws touching.  (Can you stand the cuteness? I can’t stand the cuteness.)

AND: Full credit to Elsa, since we brought Pepper home, Opie has been much less moody and pouncy. In fact, I don’t think we’ve had a single incident. He still eats unattended food and chews plastic and important documents occasionally, but overall I feel much fonder of him.

So. Now we are a happy two-cat household.  And so we shall remain, I hope, for quite some time. But no more than two! More than two cats, and I’d have to buy some of those throw pillows. And nobody wants that.