One of the little joys of being home is spending time with my cat,
whom no one else loves, but stays in our house (despite my cat’s
furniture-scratching) because my mother loves me.
She comes when I call her, even though I’m not the one feeding
her. She tries hard to pretend that she isn’t following me around: she
walks just a little bit ahead, but turns around, confused, if I change
paths. She jumps into my bed at night and curls up beside or on top of
me. Cats being clean creatures, if she needs to be let out to use the
kitty litter, she pats and meows to wake me up.
She’s scrawny, but she has a certain something about her – a quiet,
intelligent, but tentative air. Elegance.
One of the reasons why I’m looking forward to finishing my thesis is
so that I can move into a pet-friendly apartment and bring her in. So
much effort for a stray cat of no fancy pedigree! But she is my cat,
and like the fox and the Little Prince, I am both tamer and tamed.
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