I think I’m a cat person.
People are okay.
Some days, I’d kill to be immersed in a crowd of people; other days, I want to be isolated from them. The only exception to solitude is Finn’s company.
His demands are simple: “take care of me” – nothing draining and exhausting like humans. Finn doesn’t live on my terms like dogs do for their owners. I love Finn because I like to love things for themselves; things that aren’t dependent on me.
We have daily routines, from waking up at a set time to snuggling for five minutes before we fall asleep. When a pattern falls out, it’s uncomfortable. This is the only stability I relish in my life. I think it’s where I find the small bit of stability I NEED.
When Finn doesn’t come in for the night, I sleep terribly. I fear for his life and whether or not his needs are met. My cat allergies worsen during different seasons, so we occasionally shower before going to bed to reduce dander. I wonder if it strips his much-needed winter coat, I wonder if my showers are too hot/cold for his liking.
I’m paranoid he may be under or around the car when I pull out of the driveway, so I try to scout out Finn’s location while I walk to the car. I guard the garage door when we close it despite the sensors on each side; I usually come at his first cry or meow.
When I hold Finn as he purrs, and he holds eye contact with half-closed eyes, I know he’s a happy kitty. I know I’ve fulfilled his simple need, and it makes me love him more.