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Thoughts of Cats in Times of Corona

Madrid, 2020
“Let’s get a cat,” I yell towards my boyfriend from behind the bathroom door.
“Let’s get a what?” he yells back, barely awake, on the bed. I forget he’s too young to behalf
deaf.

I have recently identified a common link between most stories on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter through my endless morning scrolls on the phone. Damn, even LinkedIn has people posting pictures of their Work From Home environments where little Siberians and Ragdolls seem to have taken over their screens and keyboards. In an age like this, and at an age like mine, it’s impossible to ignore these not-so-subtle messages from the internet.

I have wanted a cat for over five years now, but things never worked out. First, it was family. Then came the college hostel, and finally, it’s work. I often picture a grizzled British Shorthair out there waiting for me to toughen up and take charge of my feline-mama responsibilities. It’s probably much older and been adopted by another mama by now, but deep down it knows it was supposed to be my cat.

Now, in this quarantine situation, we are all developing cat-like traits – staying indoors all day, snuggling in small corners, and generally practicing social distancing. My boyfriend has even pointed out at my majestic fingernail growth and the development of tiny whiskers on my upper lip.

There would not have been a better time to adopt a cat than the week before the quarantine began, for not only do we have time to tend to pets but also because we now personally relate to their agony. We even have colossal Amazon boxes left unattended in the house from the recent moving in.
Maybe I could start looking for peculiar alley cats that jump near our kitchen window. Or tiny kittens scrounging near the dumpster when I make my weekly trip to take out the trash. Or just be practical and search for animal rescue homes where one can officially adopt kittens, months hence of course.

Numerous tabs begin to pop up on my laptop screen. Then, something strange happens. I begin to wonder how my potential pet would react when we go back to work. Long hours, not a soul in the house. Claws on the carpet, claws on the curtain, claws on me when I walk in at eight. Being stuck at home for a little over a week has done me no better – it’s the routine work meetings, conversations with friends and family, and the social media monster that have collectively kept me sane.

“There’s a cat cafe. Polineko. In La Latina,” my boyfriend seems to have been doing some research while I was lost in thought. He tends to spend about an hour on his phone before he can finally muster the strength to get out of bed.
“What? Really!”
“Let’s go there once this is all over.”
Spend time with house cats for two hours and good café con Leche? Close all the tabs. The cat
the situation’s been taken care of. 
Back to work.

Day nine.

// Thoughts of Cats in Times of Corona


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