Psycho Kitty… Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

I have a confession to make. I’m in an abusive relationship. No, it’s not with my husband, sons, or family member. It’s with my cat. I try and do the right thing with Rocky. I give him salmon treats and cat nip toys. I greet him lovingly when he enters the room. I pat his velvety brown and black tabby fur. He purrs. I think I’m finally making headway. He cares. He loves me. Then he bites me.

Still, I adore this animal, although I’m not sure why. Simon our dog will hear a strange noise and leap to protect us. Rocky runs full tilt, hiding under the center of the bed.

And unlike the dog, Rocky’s not a pack animal. He could care less where the family is. In fact, he seems to go out of his way to avoid us.

In ancient Egypt, cats were worshipped as deities, their eyes thought to hold supernatural powers. They hear, see, and smell things we can’t. Sometimes Rocky will stare at a spot in the room where I see nothing. I wonder if he’s perceiving ghosts, psychic forces only his feline eyes can pick up.

Of course, my husband Randy would interject here, saying the cat’s dumb as a post and literally staring into space. But I choose to believe Rocky’s communing with the cosmos.

Like many cats, Rocky’s allure is that he’s both beautiful and indifferent. His fur is plush and thick. His face is sensual with almond-shaped eyes. His tail is fat and fluffy. And yet if he was the size of an adult male lion he’d probably kill us, yawn, and go back to sleep.

Still, in his defense, Rocky makes his feelings known in subtle ways. I’m the only lap he sits on. He’ll sleep nestled against me all night. I have to re-position him ten times.

Sometimes he’ll stare at me. I can’t tell if he’s thinking how much he loves me or wondering how I’d taste for dinner.

That’s the thing with cats. You never know.

Maybe we cat owners are masochists. After all, what are we getting out of this? Yes, they’re cute as kittens, but grow into creatures with this inflated sense of entitlement, this ability to walk away and stay away and away and away… at least until mealtime.

Rocky could truly care less about us, except… when he’s being sweet and cuddly and loving. He’s a riddle.

If Rocky were human, people would counsel me to end this relationship. It’s too much of an emotional roller coaster.

But I can’t.

He’s my cat and I love him.

Do you have a kitty you just can’t quit? Comments are always welcome and if you’d like to share this piece, just push one of the magic buttons below.

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