My cat, the goldfish

My cat has schizophrenia.Here, right out the outset, let me clarify that he isn't really my cat. He belongs to my flatmate. But since she only wakes up at 11 am, and he likes to have his first meal at 7 am, he's adopted me as his primary food provider. I suspect that's my only role in his life. Though I'm also occasionally required to scratch him, and sometimes, be scratched. But all in good time.

To go back to where I started, he's one of the most multifaceted people I know. He's one part cat and one part dog. There's also some goldfish and ostrich thrown in for good measure. Just to avoid repetition, I suppose. I also think he's gay. He lives in a house with three women who fawn over him (though one only from a distance), yet he's happiest when there's a man in the house. He's also quite the slut, believes in sharing the love with all new men who come into the house. None of the catlike being snooty and being picky for him. But I guess that's also the dog part of him making him all affectionate. (Except of course with the people who provide him food and shelter; us he takes for granted with a healthy dose of the disdain that is otherwise missing in his relationships.)

He has an extremely short memory. Leave the house for a few days and he'll forget you ever existed. Every time I come back from a trip, I have to be prepared to have my advances jilted. He only begins to recollect faintly my role as the regular supplier morning time food when the next 7 am rings around. But it get's shorter, his memory, to a goldfish-like five seconds. So flatmate can use the same red string to distract him and draw him out of the room, again and again. No matter how many times the door slams shut on his face, the silly billi falls for the red string ploy every single time.

When he gets bored of that game, we play hide and seek. He burrows his head under my bedsheet and feels well hidden. Only until his very exposed and gigantic ass (it's about 5 times the size of his head) is thwacked. But does he learn? Oh no, the ostrich in his blood doesn't let him. So back he'll go, head burrowed under the roommate's bedsheet this time, feeling all secure and well hidden. Right until the point when he jumps up in surprise when his ass is thwacked again. And then he'll turn his big round eyes on you, looking betrayed, accusing, "You peeped. The sheets are transparent? You have x-ray vision!"

But hey, I'm not complaining. He's one helluva cat. A handsome cat, all puss-in-bootish, especially at night when his black pupils swell to fill his eyes. And he's got enough personality to fill a house with. A big house. With two bedrooms, a giant hall, and a roomy kitchen, which are all empty 'cept for me right now. I think I would consider bouncing off the walls if he didn't take care of that chore for me. Though he usually does that at 3 am, our sleep cycles being completely at odds.

(He sleeps till 3 am. Wakes up, starts bouncing into things and streaking across the house. Stays up till his morning meal. Then disappears, only to make a guest appearance whenever he needs water, food, or a human leg to rub against. He occasionally deigns to meow at old crows.)

Photo courtesy Charles