I’d just finished reading Allie Brosh’s Hyperbole and a Half, and was in the lounge. I was on my couch, waiting for my laptop to load, and the cat was on the opposite couch. Lying on his tummy, paws tucked in, head up and alert just in case anything of note should happen. Ears pricked at the slightest sound, eyes looking in the direction of things beyond the lounge wall. Trying to keep focused, but his eyelids (do cats have eyelids?) drooping closed. Then came the epiphany:
My cat is me.
No, Manny is not a figment of my imagination, conjured up for the Internet to prove that I’m not utterly alone in my weirdness. But I adopted him when he was three years old, and he’s about ten or eleven now. You know how there’s a supposed theory that women who live in close proximity, somehow their mentrual cycles tune in to each other by osmosis or something, and they occur around the same time? Yeah, I have no idea if that’s true or just an urban myth, but I wonder if by living in close proximity to me for most of his life that somehow mine and Manny’s personalities have somewhat merged.
Example: Manny trying to keep alert, whilst actually being rather sleepy = Fear Of Missing Out. I totally have that. You may have noticed that.
Example: Manny’s line of vision follows people around the room, turning his head. Because he’s watching and silently judging. I don’t act upon my judgments, but I have them nonetheless. As in, “I know what you’re doing, but for the time being I’ve decided not to call you out on it.”
There are probably more examples (binge-eating, only his portions are controlled, and he purges but I don’t), but it makes me wonder when my cat stopped being himself and started being me. I chose to adopt him from the shelter, because he was the only cat who could be bothered getting off their arse to greet me, so I figured that initiative should be rewarded, because maybe he actually wanted me to adopt him. Who knows?
P.S. I think maybe this entire blog post is just post-book weirdness. I’m not usually like this, I swear! (Except for the Fear Of Missing Out, watching and silently judging, and the binge-eating, of course.)
P.P.S. I think I might be a gobshite.