It was a steamy night in June when I met him.
Suitcase in hand, sweat and a mandatory mask plastered on my face, I walked into 705 Baldwin St. grumpy as hell dragging my limited belongings behind me.
After a lengthy trip to the U.S., I’d arrived back in Toronto, and was happy to discover that my new roommate seemed very ideal.
Cute, fluffy, quiet.
Like most roommates, in the beginning we started off on great terms. I complimented him right off the bat. “Awhhh you’re so cute,” I said. It was a smooth way to ease in to our new roommateship. He meowed, which I took to be a thank you, or some sort of verbal acceptance. It all seemed very promising; I pictured a smooth transition into cohabiting with this four-legged feline.
I learned (almost) immediately that we didn’t speak the same language, so even if he loudly judged me when I came home with three tubs of ice cream and finished them off the same day , it wouldn’t matter. And, most importantly, if I decided I was hungry and craving some sort of canned fish, he always had my back. If I gorged on small, undetectable amounts of his food stash, the most he could do was meow in protest. Luckily, I could always put in my headphones to block that out.
It was a compromise of sorts, if he – who’s name I’m still unsure of, but for the purpose of this blog we will refer to him as Mr. Cat. - put up with me occasionally munching on his snacks, I would put up with his odd staring, loud meowing, and disconcerting sleeping habits. He was one of three cats I would be living with for the next few months – (and three other girls.)
Somewhere in the first few days though, something went horribly wrong. I’m not sure if the wires got crossed between my covered mouth or the language barrier. Or if he overheard me saying I had seen cats that were much cuter. But, after a few days of co-existing I soon realized Mr. Cat had a horrible temper. His anger was intensified by the fact that he didn’t like his two other cat roommates. He was used to being the sole cat of the house, and to show his displeasure he decided to take his anger out on his cohabitors.
It was subtle attacks at first.
Loud meowing into the late hours of the night. Constant disapproving glances. He was a master at side-eyes. As time went on, his unhappiness grew more apparent.
While I was teaching online classes in the mornings, he would meow angrily outside my door. Loud meows that came from deep inside his body and must have caused him some sort of sore throat later on. MEOOOOOWWW. MEOOOOOOOWWW. MEOOOOOOOOWWWWW. Some nights I would hear him throwing himself against the flimsy wood barrier, my only protection from his growing displeasure. Were the dishes I had left in the sink too much for him to handle? I’m still unsure what pushed him over the edge.
It started off as a typical day with Mr. Cat. I was in my room, and just outside the door I could hear him engaging in his usual meowing routine. Maybe he was lonely like me, I thought. I opened the door -my first mistake. “What’s wrong?” I asked him. “Tell me your problems.”
“MEOOOOWWWW.” That was the only answer I received at first. Then, he approached me - looking for a hug perhaps, I thought, maybe some love. He let out another meow. I could relate, a week into mandatory quarantine and I missed hugs too.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. When he jumped me, I was horribly unprepared for his attack. He latched on to my leg, perhaps seeing something that resembled chicken? Or possibly missing his target – my throat. It was a toss-up. Either way, his teeth sunk in as did his claws, leaving me with bruises and a bloody leg, seething. The hours of spare time I had in quarantine now served a purpose. I sat at the desk in my room on the daily, plotting my revenge.
Which one of his cans of food should I eat first? Or maybe I should start on the bagged food? No, I’d eat the cans first, more expensive.
How long would he have to wait until I cleaned the bathroom? (His litter box.) My anger knew no bounds.
He was ruthless, but I could be too. His rampage continued, he attacked two of my other roommates – even sending his owner to get surgery on her wrist - and a kitten before it appeared he had finally tired of his outlaw lifestyle.
My roommates were quite forgiving after the incident, forgetting about it long before the wounds he had inflicted on their skin had time to heal. I would hear them frequently playing games with him and petting him through the thin walls of the house we lived in. His owner would whisper affectionately to him while she held him with her one good arm, her other still wrapped fresh from the surgery.
I couldn’t forgive that easily, the bruises from where he had punctured my leg with his teeth were still visible. I would smile to appear pleasant if he was out when my roommates were home, but the second we were alone – eyes narrowed, jaw clenched I would glare at him from across the room. I could see him for what he really was. Pure evil.
How could something that seemed so pleasant and promising, full of hope at the beginning, turn so ugly? It was definitely disappointing that I would not be cordial with Mr. Cat now and after we were no longer roommates, but it was just the way it had to be.
Maybe forgiveness was something I needed to work on.
But, Mr. Cat needed work in anger management first.
Suitcase in hand, sweat and a mandatory mask plastered on my face, I walked into 705 Baldwin St. grumpy as hell dragging my limited belongings behind me.
After a lengthy trip to the U.S., I’d arrived back in Toronto, and was happy to discover that my new roommate seemed very ideal.
Cute, fluffy, quiet.
Like most roommates, in the beginning we started off on great terms. I complimented him right off the bat. “Awhhh you’re so cute,” I said. It was a smooth way to ease in to our new roommateship. He meowed, which I took to be a thank you, or some sort of verbal acceptance. It all seemed very promising; I pictured a smooth transition into cohabiting with this four-legged feline.
I learned (almost) immediately that we didn’t speak the same language, so even if he loudly judged me when I came home with three tubs of ice cream and finished them off the same day , it wouldn’t matter. And, most importantly, if I decided I was hungry and craving some sort of canned fish, he always had my back. If I gorged on small, undetectable amounts of his food stash, the most he could do was meow in protest. Luckily, I could always put in my headphones to block that out.
It was a compromise of sorts, if he – who’s name I’m still unsure of, but for the purpose of this blog we will refer to him as Mr. Cat. - put up with me occasionally munching on his snacks, I would put up with his odd staring, loud meowing, and disconcerting sleeping habits. He was one of three cats I would be living with for the next few months – (and three other girls.)
Somewhere in the first few days though, something went horribly wrong. I’m not sure if the wires got crossed between my covered mouth or the language barrier. Or if he overheard me saying I had seen cats that were much cuter. But, after a few days of co-existing I soon realized Mr. Cat had a horrible temper. His anger was intensified by the fact that he didn’t like his two other cat roommates. He was used to being the sole cat of the house, and to show his displeasure he decided to take his anger out on his cohabitors.
It was subtle attacks at first.
Loud meowing into the late hours of the night. Constant disapproving glances. He was a master at side-eyes. As time went on, his unhappiness grew more apparent.
While I was teaching online classes in the mornings, he would meow angrily outside my door. Loud meows that came from deep inside his body and must have caused him some sort of sore throat later on. MEOOOOOWWW. MEOOOOOOOWWW. MEOOOOOOOOWWWWW. Some nights I would hear him throwing himself against the flimsy wood barrier, my only protection from his growing displeasure. Were the dishes I had left in the sink too much for him to handle? I’m still unsure what pushed him over the edge.
It started off as a typical day with Mr. Cat. I was in my room, and just outside the door I could hear him engaging in his usual meowing routine. Maybe he was lonely like me, I thought. I opened the door -my first mistake. “What’s wrong?” I asked him. “Tell me your problems.”
“MEOOOOWWWW.” That was the only answer I received at first. Then, he approached me - looking for a hug perhaps, I thought, maybe some love. He let out another meow. I could relate, a week into mandatory quarantine and I missed hugs too.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. When he jumped me, I was horribly unprepared for his attack. He latched on to my leg, perhaps seeing something that resembled chicken? Or possibly missing his target – my throat. It was a toss-up. Either way, his teeth sunk in as did his claws, leaving me with bruises and a bloody leg, seething. The hours of spare time I had in quarantine now served a purpose. I sat at the desk in my room on the daily, plotting my revenge.
Which one of his cans of food should I eat first? Or maybe I should start on the bagged food? No, I’d eat the cans first, more expensive.
How long would he have to wait until I cleaned the bathroom? (His litter box.) My anger knew no bounds.
He was ruthless, but I could be too. His rampage continued, he attacked two of my other roommates – even sending his owner to get surgery on her wrist - and a kitten before it appeared he had finally tired of his outlaw lifestyle.
My roommates were quite forgiving after the incident, forgetting about it long before the wounds he had inflicted on their skin had time to heal. I would hear them frequently playing games with him and petting him through the thin walls of the house we lived in. His owner would whisper affectionately to him while she held him with her one good arm, her other still wrapped fresh from the surgery.
I couldn’t forgive that easily, the bruises from where he had punctured my leg with his teeth were still visible. I would smile to appear pleasant if he was out when my roommates were home, but the second we were alone – eyes narrowed, jaw clenched I would glare at him from across the room. I could see him for what he really was. Pure evil.
How could something that seemed so pleasant and promising, full of hope at the beginning, turn so ugly? It was definitely disappointing that I would not be cordial with Mr. Cat now and after we were no longer roommates, but it was just the way it had to be.
Maybe forgiveness was something I needed to work on.
But, Mr. Cat needed work in anger management first.