One Man's Relationship to His Cat

There is a cat living in the same house as I do, and her name is Marbles. Now, she's not my cat, since I never wanted a cat and don't particularly like this one. But I have young children, and so a fur-bearing domestic animal eventually became part of the picture; I've kept it to one cat, and I intend to keep it that way.

Marbles, in my mind, belongs to my two sons. But they don't feed her, or change her litter, or even play with her very much -- she's just there, running around the house at random, in much the same way that they do. They do claim to love her.

On the other hand, I don't claim to love her, or even like her. In fact, I tell her quite often that I don't like her, but -- cats having a brain the size of a walnut and only a very limited capacity for understanding human speech -- that doesn't seem to have had any effect on her behavior.

Maybe she's more motivated by actions than words, though -- I am the one who feeds her nearly all of the time. No one else ever seems to notice that her food bowl is empty, or that she needs water. And I am the one who, every night, places the auxiliary food and water bowls in the basement and then entices her downstairs with greenies.

But, again, I don't like her, or give her any affection. And that recently brought me to a realization.

I am my cat's Wire Mother.

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Listening to: Bess Rogers - Travel Back
via FoxyTunes