Strange, to dedicate a page to my cat, you may think.
There are a few reasons why Molly (the cat) appears as a dedicated page rather than a blog post. Well, to start with, she is very much part of my life other than whatever else that happens on the main blogging page. Secondly, I am unfortunately a cat owner who has fallen prey to her cat’s scheming cuteness ploy. Thirdly, Molly simply adds an additional dimension to living, being a pet who is dependent on me and (as I will like to think) thinks I am her entire world.
Being a cat owner puts you in a very different category as a dog owner, with the latter being the more popular option in Singapore. Stray cats are not quite welcome, and are often lumped together in the same categories as pests despite looking 100 times more decent than them. People say dogs are more affectionate and cats are aloof, but being a cat owner shows you a range of behavior, affection, quirks and funny things that cats do that probably grants them equal status (if not more) to dogs. Cat owners often rub shoulders with one another, acknowledging that the other party is probably as eccentric and quirky as they are to keep a cat. It often starts with, “Ah, welcome to the world of cat-owners. You never own them, they own you.”
Like all other baby animals, Molly grows up too fast. I believe that all baby animals are born super-cute as their defence weapon against potential predators who look to them as dinner. Maybe predators will look at them and go, “Aww you cute little thing, I’m not going to eat you today…maybe two months later when you are more grown up and less fur and bones.” *insert evil cackle*
As a kitten, Molly chases strings, pounces on fingers and falls flat on her back each time she attempts to scramble up the sofa. She was really miserable and pooed in my hands when she had her first bath (why, of course since we’re gonna let her sleep on our beds). During her growing phase, we unfortunately had to endure her first “I’m in heat” moments, when Molly became a 24-hour pornstar wriggling on her back and sticking her butt into every hump-able object in the apartment. The humping and wriggling I can ignore, but not her desperate mating howl to an invisible tom-cat at the door every night. I believe she still plots revenge on us for having her spayed.
Today, Molly is angsty teenager in need of constant attention, who plays catch with me up and down the corridor and bites too hard when she gets excited during play. She loves going for walks and practises on her bird-hunting skills when I go swimming, and I always hope I do not have bring a mouthful-of-feather-Molly home each time.
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