Depression Talk

I’m not sure what the thing with me and cats is, but every time I get a cat, it ends up really neurotic. My last cat, Odysseus, died when I was in second year just after I got my current cat, Copernicus. I don’t really know what the deal is with my love for naming cats ridiculous names, except that it makes them unique. And its fun to watch the people at the vets’ office squirm when they don’t know how to spell the names. I’m thinking of throwing a silent H and a few Y’s just to muck things up a little bit.

The addition of Copernicus to my life has been… hectic. She has been a sickly kitten, a cranky kitty, a depressed and unhappy cat, a cat living with her owner’s parents; she has been thin, unhappy, growly, un-cuddly, and generally unpleasant.

Last year Copernicus had to come and live with my parents in the last month I lived in my first apartment. I called the place Hell for a reason, and the cat seemed to agree with my assessment of it. In the month she spent with my parents she became a glossy-coated, healthy looking cat.

She then lived with me for the following eleven months, and she didn’t seem to mind it too much. She was never exactly a happy little scampering about type of cat, but she was fine. She ate, she slept. I figured she was just an individual.

For the last month I lived in the Big City, Copernicus lived with my parents because it was just a hassle to have her while I was living it up.

The first thing I did when I got home was go to the stairs and call out for my little kitty. Then the strangest thing happened: She came to me. Not only did she come, but she allowed me to pet her, cuddle her, hold her briefly. And then an even stranger phenomena occured: She began to purr.

I have never seen Copernicus so happy. She is still very vocal, and for a nickname I occasionally call her Yowly Gonzales. Because she is very, very yowly. Her hair is shiny, she purrs regularly (Which, I swear? She totally did NOT do for the first year I owned her), she sleeps on my bed and plays with her blanky.

I have no idea what caused this change. Perhaps it was being away from me that allowed her to behave like a normal cat, but I tend to think that she is just not city cat material. She needs more space than an apartment can provide, she needs other animals about to torment (Or to torment her…).

I have to say that it is nice that I’m not the only one who feels like there is one, and only one, worthwhile place to live. I can really commiserate here, because I know what it is like to be unhappy in your living arrangements… And sometimes I feel guilty for subjecting her to the life that she led for her first year.

And then, I realize that I’m obsessing over a frickin CAT and that maybe, just MAYBE I should find something better to do with my time, like watch Degrassi: The Next Generation and listen to country music because even mindless television about teenagers who decide to become strippers has to be better than obsessing about what a terrible cat owner I am.