Hello again WP, after a loooooong absence. So around three weeks ago, to be specific on 13 July 2018, I was gifted with a cat. She was supposed to be my birthday present which falls on the 16th.

I initially thought that she is a kitten, because if I’m going to have a feline friend, I’d like them to be a cute, adorable little feline kitten who’d have most of their first times with me. And I honestly thought I was about to get a kitten, because the pics my sister sent to me was a pic of a kitten. Little did I know, haha.

The talk about me adopting a cat had been going on for about a week before her grand arrival. My sister was telling our mum about how a rich lady is currently rehoming her cats. She had been supporting 80+ cats (Yeah well. I was shocked too.) before her husband started having health problems that requires her care. So she was in the process of looking for serious prospective cat mummies and daddies. And Cassie, my dear Cassie is one of the furballs in need of a new home. My sister told me she came together with a bunch of siblings of a different breed, Maine Coons to be precise. All her siblings were already safely placed. Except for her. Apparently she was a half breed; half American Shorthair and half something else, most probably Persian. In fact I’m quite convinced she’s half Persian, because God. Which makes her not particularly ideal for competitions. And she wasn’t doing very good in the temperament department either, she looked down all the time and also there’s another problem that I’ll explain in a short while.

As for me, around the same time of last year my pretty baby Darling was mauled by two stray dogs. She was a beautiful, docile, independent and adorably stupid quarter Burmese with unique signature: she was slightly cross-eyed. She loved food and her ears would perk up whenever she heard rustling or crinkling of papers or plastics. She loved getting kisses, like absolutely, utterly loved kisses. She’d bow her head to let me kiss her and she returned those kisses back by poking me twice, thrice with her wet red nose. Her temperament was perfect for our home, she didn’t mind getting pressed, fondled, sometimes licked or choked by my mentally disabled sister. Like, no matter what was done to her, she never bite or scratch. As if she understood. And like me, she was a quiet cat, she hardly made a sound. We used to co-exist in the same setting in comfortable silence. If she decided she wanted attention, she wasn’t shy to demand it from me though. As in your typical cat who would sit on your laptop so you’d stop typing, haha. In other words, she was my baby, my best friend, my Darling. Her name fit her to a T. When she died, I was just crushed. She was around five years old when she died, and was perfectly healthy except for the gaping wound on her neck. I’d never forget that moment I found her, crying in pain when I went looking for her because she didn’t return since the night before.

I’m an introvert who’s also socially awkward. Darling was, my one true emotional support. She wasn’t just a cat. And I guess I was suffering from depression after her death. I was always down, and often had breakdowns when I would just cry. I cried at night, I cried while I was asleep, my mind always reeling, and my sleep pattern was just bad. And I also get stressed easily compared to before, more irritable, and probably even more drawn in. My family didn’t seem to notice, except probably for my youngest sister, who keeps telling me I need to get a new cat. She was also probably just jealous because her cat, Blossom, likes me better. At this time I was having a love-hate relationship with the tortoise-shell. She was cute, but too invasive and clingy (when she wants). And she ditches me whenever she wants, she bites and scratches to show her affection, which just doesn’t suit me, who has low tolerance when it comes to pain. I always ends up screaming from pain or surprise, and she’d run away from shock. As I said before, my Darling was docile with excellent temperament, so I wasn’t used to Blossom’s overaffectionate personality. In other words, I don’t just click with any cat. I used to, but not anymore. I’m not sure if it’s got something to do with age. But, there you have it.

TBC

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