by Get cat. Not on my “goals for the new year” list. But on day five of 2025, I took possession of Kitty. My British friends in Dumbrăvița somehow acquired it – her – but because they have two large dogs, they were desperate to have it rehomed so she didn’t get killed. She’s been vaccinated and dewormed and defleaed, but not spayed. I really hope she isn’t pregnant. I hope to keep her within the confines of my flat. She’s little – just under three kilos – and a mixture of black, white, and a kind of caramel brown colour. So for now at least, I’ve joined the 48% (accordingly to a survey) of households in Romania with at least one cat. That’s a really high number, but when I look at the sheer number of cats skulking around any street or apartment block, it passes my sniff test. Yes, Kitty is her actual name. I’ve got a cat that’s basically called Cat. My friends called her that, and it’s even written on her little booklet. Though they said I could change the name, I won’t, because I can’t think of anything better (it’s harder somehow when she’s multicoloured), and I live in Romania where Kitty isn’t a generic cat name.
When I told my parents that I’d acquired a cat, they were apoplectic. Really angry, both of them. As if I’d destroyed my life. Why would you do this to yourself? You’ll have to clean out the stinky litter tray, it’ll make a mess of your furniture, you’ll have to make trips to the vet, and how will you ever be able to go away? You live in a flat, for crying out loud. You damn well get rid of it before we come over. They were also angry with my friends for foisting the cat on me, as they saw it. And yes, I get it. Having a pet is a complication, and fewer complications is nearly always a good thing. Before Kitty arrived I was up half the night thinking of all those complications. But jeez, they spent nearly a million dollars on one massive complication that utterly dwarfs having a mostly independent animal in your home; because of it they couldn’t go away for years, and it ended up making my brother pretty upset. Me too, honestly. When I showed Mum the cat on our Skype call, she perked up a bit – “It is actually quite a nice-looking cat.” When I was little, we had a female cat called Pep. In 1989, prior to our six-month stay in New Zealand, Mum gave Pep to one of the other teachers to look after. After a couple of months in Temuka we got a letter from her: Pep had gone missing. We never saw her again. Since then, my parents have become pretty anti-pet. A few years later my older cousin dumped her fat cat on us; I’m sure it had a name but for us it was just The Cat.
It’s quite possible I won’t have Kitty for all that long. Dorothy said she’d really like to have a cat, whereas I’m basically cat-agnostic. Fine with one, fine without one. If she really wants Kitty, she can have her.
I stumbled upon something online today that said that 48% of Birmingham residents have at least one tattoo. I wasn’t looking for anything related to Birmingham, and certainly not tattoos, so I’m not exactly sure how it came up. Anyway, that’s a staggeringly high figure, and the same as the cats-in-Romania number. Maybe I should get a tattoo as well. Mum and Dad would really love that.
Update: I’ve just spoken to my brother. I showed him the cat and told him about Mum and Dad’s reaction. They’re being bloody ridiculous, he said. Without prompting, he mentioned their insane house business.
My niece is likely to arrive any day now.
