Not My Cat
There are not many words that can describe the soul-crushing loneliness or the existential dread that settled in as I started to get ready for my first night in the new house. The previous owners had left the furniture (which we’d agreed upon) so at least I had 11 single beds to choose from. I spent as much time as I could making that tough decision, then I was lost.
What do you do when you move somewhere completely remote, without knowing a soul? Yeah, “Oh, I’ve bought a house to renovate in La Gomera!” sounds ridiculously exciting, brave and adventurous, but that first night, I was in a state of abject terror.
Just as I was considering giving it all up, running back to England and selling the place to the first person who offered $20 and a bag of crisps for it, I heard the most pitiful sound. A high-pitched, near-death ‘mew,’ coming from nearby.
Frantically I started looking around for the creature who must’ve been in a whole world of pain to be making such noises. Imagine my surprise when the tiniest kitten strolled through my gate (very much happy, not in pain, and certainly not near death) as though she owned the place, before jumping onto my shoulders and purring.
Now, I don’t believe in guardian angels, spirit guides or anything in that vein. But this kitten – good grief she was a miracle. She spent some time getting cuddles before scratching to be let into the house, and bemused, I had no choice but to let her. She walked around each room, carefully checking it out before making herself comfortable in one of my suitcases.
When it was time for me to go to sleep, I didn’t have a clue what to do. Put her out? Leave her in? She made the decision easy for me by jumping onto the bed I was planning on sleeping in, purring loudly and staring at me as if challenging me to move her. I didn’t want to upset the locals on my first day, so obviously she had to stay…
So, my first night was spent with the front door wide open for the cat, less than half the bed (how does a tiny kitten take up so much room?) and feeling as though maybe, just maybe, the idea wasn’t such a bad one after all.
Now, I don’t want a cat. I tour too much and I’m away too often. Even though I’ve found out her name is Luna, she’s always referred to as Not My Cat when she’s here. Even though she follows me up the stairs when she sees me coming back from the shops. Even though she sleeps on the bed whenever it’s cold, before leaving at 6am to go off for some very important business. Even though there’s a pile of cat toys and a water bowl. Even though there are approximately 8 million pictures of her on my phone. Even though she insists on checking out every piece of building work, furniture, new visitor – absolutely Not My Cat.
Donate today! Treats for Not My Cat, life-size cutouts to stave off the existential dread...