It was February 14th, NOT my favorite day of the year and the store was packed with cute couples taking their relationship to a new level, being "we are ready to adopt a pet. together". I was the only single one there. My choice immediately fell on white pile of cuddling and loving furry he-cat. He was big and calm and easily went into my arms. I was not really counting or thinking for that matter. I was upset and I had an urge to nest. So, I asked for the paperwork to fill out. It all went great until I literary choked over a simple question of "are you ready to commit to a cat for at least 20 years?". A multiple choice question. I stumbled for half an hour until a soft "can I help you, miss" brought me back. Can I commit to anything for at least 20 years? - was all that was running through my head. Do cats even live that long? How the hell do I know? I can't even commit to one and the same apartment for more than half a year!!!
It was supposed to be a fun trip to get a loving warm creature to meet me home from work and sleep with me in one bed (I like to snuggle, I can't help it). Instead, I remembered all the bridges I have burned and all the circles I have danced. Damn it, I just wanted a cat! I answered honestly "not sure" and fled the store. Of course, I am not getting any cat. No sane adoption agent will give one to a screwed immigrant who is so much capable of committing to a lonely plant and a bottle of Merlot every once in a while.
And so I have settled for my plant, empty bed and a dream of getting a cat at some point of my life. The urge of nesting was getting stronger as the evening fell on the city and I cooked. For myself. I do that too. Once in a blue moon.
