Figaro Journal #1: Seven Years, A Retrospect

Here's my entry to the "Pets Make Us Human" contest from Jessica Zafra's blog.


If not for overheard conversations, I would’ve thought I was born into a life of total comfort. I’ve no memory of my feral past. They say I was brought here by a then-girlfriend of one of the family’s. My family was a bunch who was used to tabbies and tortoiseshells sneaking in their backyard to take a dump, have dinner, spend the night or give birth to a litter of elusive critters. Little did they know that a black and white tuxedo cat would be their first official feline family member.

I’m not sure what it was about me that endeared me to them. Maybe it was my penchant for biting their toes and lying on their tummies at night. Maybe they missed the cat (who would have been their first real cat pet, and they almost named me after) that had gone missing months before I lived with them. Maybe it was just that all the kids have outgrown their asthma. Or maybe they realized in the end that I was much cuter than all other-marked cats they were used to.

I have to give it to them for still letting me live in their house after doing several #2s on top of their closets when I was a baby and even fed me cat food when I wouldn’t eat table scraps. I didn’t mean to be such a brat – perhaps there was something about my streetwalker past that made me scorn human food (except the sweets, though). Perhaps something traumatic that I don’t remember.

Past aside, I know they’re proud of me now, the little stray all toilet-trained, well-traveled and very photogenic (plus, occasional blogger). Like I told Santa last Christmas, I hope that everybody else in the streets find such luck as mine.

Prelude Post: Bantay and Muning's 30 Seconds of Fame