It Stalks These Halls

I've mentioned the place I'm presently living in before and the circumstances under which that came to be, but there's an angle I have only mentioned in passing. Taking up a mere paragraph of that post but looming much larger is what might be described as the fourth roommate in the place, a lean and mostly black cat. When I first came into the apartment, he had no name which anyone could tell me. A trial balloon was floated in the form of the moniker 'Oliver'. The name's literary associations were deliberately chosen. I think the cat was believed to be an even more temporary denizen than I, though that remains to be seen. Each of us has a problematic exit strategy. In the mean time, he is here to roam around day and night, and I am likewise at liberty to watch that happen.

It's a surprisingly diverting exercise, although it's not entirely a pleasant one. The cat has an off-putting reserve of energy and few if any constructive outlets for it. An early morning would not be complete without me feeling inadequate as a result of the respective degrees of pep displayed by it and myself. I cannot honestly say that I have observed him sleeping. It's my believe that any time during which it has been immobile was merely an opportunity seized to 'case' someone or something upon which it had self-serving designs. Sometimes I come upon the cat after entering the apartment during the day or exiting my bedroom in the morning and he is there to watch me. He hasn't bounded out at the sound of my approach or the hinges of the door. He's just there, evidently reaping the benefits of a maddening gift for patience. I don't have that, and I have the benefit of having attended formal educational institutions for twenty years.

As I said, he seems to have flagging energy, and yet it has no positive channels for it. Really, I suppose I can only say that to be the case from my perspective. Outwardly, he shows every sign of believing fervently in the righteousness of his acts. Cats have a talent for that. This one recently set upon the restroom wastebasket with a kind of destructive zeal that one can't help but be in awe of. After I had swept through to clean up, he did it all over again minutes later, overturning the trash receptacle and covering the bathroom floor in debris all over again. More than another cleaning, this called for critical thinking on my part. I determined that we could no longer trust the cat to live in peace with his plastic, garbage bag-lined counterpart. I tried my best to wedge it between the cabinet and the toilet so that it could not be extracted with anything less than the aid of an educated human intellect.

Lest it appear otherwise, I love the cat tremendously. I'm still a young man, but have learned enough to feel unconditional love while still being able to appreciate faults that might be improved through my caring. I sometimes find him in a state of rest while the others are all out, and I tenderly stroke his head, which is one of the safe areas to touch without provoking the deadly, flailing clawed paws. As I do this, I enthusiastically praise the cat's prettiness and apparently content state of mind (i.e. its happiness). I guess that even a cat could entertain greater ambitions, but perhaps that's when they begin to become dangerous. Anyway. it's fun to have the pychological effects of pet ownership for even a brief time. Where I am going pets are not permitted, so I will enjoy while I can the pretty, happy kitty in spite of his failings.