08/16/2025
I Went to Adopt a Cat. The Cat Adopted Me. 😼
So, I made the adult decision to go adopt a cat. Not because I’m lonely — I mean, I am — but because my therapist said I needed “emotional support that doesn’t require WiFi.” 🙃
I walk into the shelter thinking I’ll find a sweet, cuddly lap cat. You know — one of those Instagram cats who wear bowties and help with laundry.
What I got was Dennis.
Dennis is 5kg of unbothered chaos with one ear permanently bent and the vibe of a retired rockstar who still drinks out of mugs that say “Don’t talk to me before fish.”
The shelter worker says, “He’s… got personality.”
Translation: He’s feral with a pension.
I try to pet Dennis. He immediately slaps my hand and stares me dead in the eye like,
“We don’t do that here.”
Naturally, I adopted him.
Fast forward: Week 1
I bring Dennis home. He disappears for three days. I thought he ran away.
Nope. He was living inside the couch. Not under it. IN IT. Like some kind of soft-furnished raccoon.
I try to win him over with toys. He laughs in my face. Literal toy mouse? No thanks.
But you know what he *does* play with?
✅ My debit card
✅ A sock I haven’t seen since 2019
✅ My dignity
Week 2: The Shift
One night, I’m crying into a bowl of cereal over a bad date. Dennis climbs out of the wardrobe (his preferred resting place) and sits next to me. No purring, no cuddles — just a heavy sigh, like:
“They didn’t deserve you, Sharon. Pull yourself together.”
That’s when I realised:
I didn’t adopt a cat.
I accidentally hired a very blunt life coach with fur.
Now?
Dennis still doesn’t like cuddles. He still smacks my hand if I touch his belly.
But every night, he sleeps at the foot of my bed like a weird little bodyguard.
And when I’m sad, he just sits with me — not because he has to, but because he chooses to.
And somehow, that’s even better.