When one is young, youngish, younger than sixty something, and one adopts a CAT - one isn't afraid of commitment. More so, ONE - in this case - moi - welcomes commitment with open arms. After all, the commitment to adopt a cat when one is young, youngish, younger than sixty... is the willing and open invitation to lose. To love and then to lose. To liven up and then to let go. To lure and then to lament. A cat lives... what? Ten, fifteen years? eighteen if she's lucky? So when one AKA moi adopts a cat, one says 'Hello. I'll be your mama. We'll get close. I'll take care of you. I'll feed you. I'll clean after you. We'll snuggle. You'll kiss me every morning. Sometimes you'll puke, and I'll clean it up. Sometimes I'll puke, and you'll just stare in dissatisfaction because you are a cat and not my caretaker. But you'll love me. Because I'll feed you. And I'll love you. Because you're fluffy. And adorable. And mine. And then one day you'll die. Or you'll get sick. And then you'll die. And I'll be left here, alone. Without you. Grieving you. Remembering you. Smelling you still because a cat's scent takes years to wipe off. To wither. To wander off... So hello, cat. AKA my hereby commitment to love. To loss. To litter."
If one says they have a fear of commitment, but they have a cat, you should know: one's a LIAR.
In April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling.
Header Art: Daniel Landerman