Life With Fifteen Cats

A.J. Mortimer

Life with Fifteen Cats

I live on my own in a run-down apartment. Living off a pet food taster’s salary, a run-down apartment is all I can afford. My life is without any human interaction. My family never attempt to visit. They’ve forgotten my existence. My friends also never attempt to visit. Because I have no friends. To keep me company I own fifteen cats. Their company keeps me sane. My fifteen cats and I sleep in the same bed cuddled up together. Some nights the cats are restless. They brawl on my bed and beat the shit out of one another. To calm them down, I unveil the catnip I store in my bedside draw. The catnip puts them to sleep and I sneak a little myself before putting it away.

Because I sleep with my fifteen cats, every morning, when I wake up, I am covered with cat hair. So much cat hair that the cats mistake me for themselves and start to groom. This is awkward as the cats give me a thorough full body licking. After the cats finish grooming me, the hairball symphony commences. My bedroom is filled with the sounds of cats choking and hurling up hairballs. Most of my mornings start this way. One time I even woke up to the sight of fifteen cats having sex on my bed. It was disturbing to say the least.

Every morning I like to eat breakfast with my fifteen cats. Breakfast is my favourite meal of the day. I like breakfast. Do you like breakfast? The cats and I enjoy drinking milk to keep our bones healthy. We all drink out of the same bowl, lapping the milk into our mouths. I like to treat my fifteen cats to a serving of bacon and eggs each. While I prepare the meal, the cats prepare the table with plates, knives and forks, then sit in their highchairs and patiently wait. I serve them each, two fried eggs and three rashers of bacon. However, I’m never able to eat my own. The cats always snatch my plate and leave me nothing to eat. I don’t see a problem with the cats eating my breakfast. I love all fifteen with the same amount of love.

After my fifteen cats and I finish breakfast, we need to relieve ourselves. I’ve trained my fifteen cats to use the toilet. They can wipe their own arse, flush the toilet, put the seat down, spray the air with air freshener and wash their paws. I am proud of what my fifteen cats have achieved. I always arrive at the bathroom first, but my fifteen cats overpower me and push in front then I must wait for fifteen cats to shit before having the chance to relieve the pressure building in my bladder.

How low can I get? How big a loser can I become? My fifteen cats take advantage of me daily. The more I think about it, the more I realise my fifteen cats control my entire life. They buy my clothes, tell me the clothes I am to wear, do the laundry, clean the house, buy the groceries, work nine-to-five jobs, pay the bills and set me a bedtime I stick to every night. Sometimes it feels as though I am living with the cats instead of having the cats live with me. If I am brutally honest with myself, I would be unemployed and homeless if I didn’t live with my fifteen cats.