Deep Insights from a Cat Owner

When I sat down on the living room sofa, the cats would often come over slowly and lie beside me, slouching slightly to one side (just like we slouched with our heads supported). They’d gaze at me, sometimes taking a nap after a yawn. Their eyes made it seem as if they had both intelligence and wisdom; they seemed eager to tell me something, just like Mr. Abbott’s cats in “The Cat in the Bag.” A few minutes later, they would get up and start licking their paws. They could spend half an hour licking from their claws to their tail, covering every inch with meticulous detail before moving on to another pose and posture until they were satisfied. Licking stopped once they were done, then they would head upstairs to lie down for more rounds of licking. Cats don’t need to go out; every day, they performed the same routine over and over again. I couldn’t help but wonder if they felt the passage of time or if they might waste away like us? I quickly linked this to the fates of my cat. From birth until death, he lived in this room, as though he had been counting down his own approaching demise since the day he was born. This made me feel suffocated; the motionless outside seemed to be pressing down on us as well. I could tell he must have noticed I was watching him, so he climbed up onto my lap, now that his weight was enough to make me squirm. He gave a sniff and a lick or two before climbing back up to the table where he just lounged there, staring vacantly out the window. I was stuck here with him. He didn’t care about anything except for meexcept for me, he cared everything. But I couldn’t help but think about it anymore; if I did, time itself would clump together into something tangible and press against my chest until I could no longer move.

Cats can be really clingy sometimeseven when they’re usually disinterested in you if you don’t see them for a whole day, he’d come over like crazy. Within about ten to fifteen minutes of being petted, he was satisfied, but if he had to rub your face constantly or chase after you while asking you to play with him via his ears, then he might not give in until he got annoyed enougheither by his own actions or because people kept shutting the door on him. Once he realized you were getting frustrated, he’d start rubbing his face against the window, his ears flaring red as if angry. He would then try to beg your pardon with a meek whine that made you feel like a monster. As for what he was thinking or feelinghow could I even imagine? To me, taking care of a cat meant that once a day after work, I had to spend some time playing with himeven if it was just for fifteen minutes. For him, it meant sitting beside his bed and sticking around until someone came by to take him away. He didn’t know how to play, but he’d try hard every daythough he might run out of patience or get bored easily. For us two, it was all he needed.

I recalled some news stories from the past when working in a bustling citysome people were busy with meager salaries and unremarkable jobs in big cities while their parents were boasting about how great their kids looked compared to others in their hometowns, as though their children were so special or superior. They even bragged about how lucky they were to have such an awesome-looking child who was also someone else’s responsibility (as opposed to their own). Even the little, unimportant kidseven those being bullied and picked on by strangers and societyseemed like they had a bright future in their hometowns because of that. Cats might be similar to children. Perhaps because we’re so small, our warmth is both comforting and pitiablebut perhaps it’s because we’re pitiable that we’re so easily taken advantage of.

Just the other day, I had called some European friends on the phone while they were studying abroadthey caught up with me, and we talked about how things were going. It was all very well for them, but now I just felt really annoyedand I wasn’t patient at all anymore. I wanted to leave America, go to Europethis was such a disappointment after these past few years of being stuck in one spot without any progress. I had been practically stagnant (or worse) ever since arriving here. My life inside this house was anything but excitingit was just me and my thoughts, nothing else. I thought about the books I’ve read recently, the new things I could play withI suddenly felt ill. Everything I once found so endearing now seems to bother methis is all very strange. It’s not that anyone had ever hurt me; it’s that I’m just getting older and more tired of being a teacher who doesn’t accomplish much. It’s not that I was lazy beforeit’s that now I’m even less ambitious, which is why I can’t seem to get anything done anymore.

I just couldn’t keep reading for another five minutes or soI felt like my thoughts were getting heavier and heavier until they finally converged on one word: to quit. After all these years of being in this place, of doing the same thing day after day without any reasonwhether it was because I wasn’t working hard enough, or maybe just because I’m too lazy to changethe thought of giving up never occurred to me. But now that I think about it, time itself has started to weigh on me, and everything else (including my own well-being) seems to be getting compressed into a single pointso much suffering is being concentrated in one place.

When I was a kid, I used to imagine that the more advanced you became in life, the less important small things would becomebut now I realize it’s the opposite. When I’m stuck on these daily tasks, even when I feel like giving up, I still know I can’t just sit around and do nothingthis is the only way to get through each day without failing. Once you start to think about those things, time itself becomes a burden that drags at your feet. Even if it’s only for another year or two, I don’t want to spend my life in this pit either.

When I came back from Europe, I stopped by the apartment of someone who lived on our streeta sophomore studentshe was both beautiful and brilliant, but what really impressed me was how much she seemed to value her own childwho was just like mineand how much she adored my wife. She would spend hours every day reading books, playing with dolls, or making crafts for her little girl. She also took great care of her catwhich is probably why I never heard any noise from the house. But when I came out into our small apartment, it seemed like all that effort was in vainher room looked so perfect and clean, as though she had just come out of a hospital; yet my own home felt run-down and messy. Everything looked so normal to me noweven her cat’s fur, the way it was beginning to get dirty and frayed here or there because my wife had gotten into it with her shoesso when I walked by that door, I could just imagine how much she must have been annoyed at me. My cat sat on the floor in front of my legs, still so naive and unawareand then I shut the door.

It’s not easy to be a cat, but it’s even harder for people like usbecause we don’t realize just how much our own lives are getting away from us.

everyday when I woke up or before I went to bed was the time when I really wanted someone to talk about. I couldn’t help thinking that my cat also felt this way because I suffered from sleep-deprived nights, so he’d always be waiting by his little chair outside of my room. Each morning after I got up, he’d come running into the living room and start licking my face nonstopuntil five or six minutes had passed when he’d realize that it was time to go home again. It’s as if there were people who have what they want but don’t know how to get it, just like this cat’s endless licking of his paws.