Disclaimer: I’m not writing this post alone. There’s a heavy weight lurking on my chest, vibrating relentlessly, and occasionally batting my face for asnmyu,uuuuu attention. My vibrating companion also keeps stepping on the keyboard…

Introducing Monkey the cat. Monkey is Chopin’s cat and he’s come to stay for a bit. He’s just over a year old and is super friendly, playful, and into cuddles.

But there’s one problem with this teenage feline – he’s totally undermined my long established position on cats.

For the last five years or so I’ve ticced ‘I love cats’ over and over again. I then explain that I don’t really love cats, or hate them, and that I am in fact indifferent to cats, whatever my tics might say.

But my assertions that I don’t love cats sound hollow when Monkey’s purring away on my chest.

And this isn’t the only tic that reads a bit differently with Monkey in the room. My equally regular “I fuck cats” has already raised a few more eyebrows than usual too.

But I’m really enjoying having Monkey around. His presence is calming and it’s lovely to have a companion for my afternoon naps.

So maybe I do love cats – a bit.
Or at least this cat.
This Monkey.