Cats make everything better
My cat’s name is Simon. Okay, he’s not technically my cat. He belongs to my suitemate. But she’s studying abroad in Costa Rica this semester, so for all intents and purposes, he is technically mine at least until May. Minute details.
He’s a Snowshoe cat, which is this rare breed that’s part Siamese and part domestic shorthair. He has black and brown splotches across his white fur and beautiful blue eyes that cross a little.
Simon’s a sweetheart. He most certainly qualifies as a “Velcro cat,” meaning that he doesn’t know how to leave me alone. He’s in my lap constantly, shedding on my clothes while I scratch his ears.
It doesn’t matter if it’s 7 p.m. or 4 a.m. If Simon wants attention, he’s damn well going to let me know. He’s also an old man with no front claws and hardly any teeth left. He expects wet food for breakfast and dinner — and be snappy about it, if you please, because when he’s hungry, it becomes everyone’s problem.
Simon is spoiled. Entitled. Pampered. I absolutely adore him. I dote on that cat. He could swipe me across the face and make me bleed, and I’d just probably say “Bad Simon” and give him a kiss on the head.
I love him. He just makes everything better.
Simon is a registered Emotional Support Animal, and he’s great at his job. Employee of the year, in my opinion. It’s like he can sense a bad mood incoming.
He knows when I’m upset, and he’ll silently pad over and squirrel his way into my lap. He’ll even put a paw on my face like he’s petting me back. Things don’t seem quite as awful when there’s a little baby cat purring on my chest.
There’s something about being responsible for the wellbeing of a small animal that puts things into perspective. It doesn’t matter if you’re sad or tired or sick. That little creature loves you, and it needs you to survive.
Simon doesn’t care if I’ve only slept four hours and I’d really like to skip my 8 a.m. class. He only knows that it’s morning, and that means breakfast time.
And hey, since I’m up now, I may as well trundle over to the Humanities for my early lecture.
Being responsible for Simon makes me, in turn, a more responsible person. He gives me something to care for other than myself, especially when basic human functions feel like the most arduous tasks on planet Earth.
I am a solitary person and always have been. Most times I feel like an imposter during social interactions — like there is an invisible and impenetrable pane of glass separating me from the rest of the group.
I’ve learned to enjoy my solitude, often finding company in movies or books, but even a hermit like me gets lonely sometimes. Simon offers the perfect solution to all of my woes.
He’s fantastic company. I don’t have to go out in public and pretend I’m a real person because I’m not alone when he’s there with me.
This is my attempt to convince you with a long-winded and unnecessarily detailed example about my Simon that you need a cat too. Everybody needs a cat. I don’t care if you call yourself a dog person — you’re underestimating how much joy a little kitty can bring to your life.
Cats are wise animals, and they have greater emotional intelligence than we know. Simon’s presence clears that dark cloud around my head. It’s hard to put words to feelings sometimes, but Simon doesn’t need me to articulate my thoughts to him.
I can sink my hands into his fur, listen to him purr while I calm down.
Simon helps me remember that I have a larger purpose, even if that purpose is just scooping his litter box and filling up the water bowl.
Listen to me. If you’re able to give a kitty cat a good life — if you have the means and the facilities — I encourage you to adopt one, especially if you’re like me and you sometimes need a little emotional support.
Simon gives me that tenfold, and I seriously can’t imagine living without a cat ever again.
