Opinions.

® Ciabatta the cat

By Jacey Gibb, Opinions Editor

y transformation into an
overly enthusiastic cat
person was as unexpected

as it was gradual. We’ve all been
exposed to the caricature of the
crazy, senile cat lady that has
more felines than she has fingers,
but I always assumed I was safe
from sharing a similar fate. After
all, [don’t have a vagina and, for
the most part, have managed to
maintain my mental health. Both of
these characteristics are uncommon
in crazy cat ladies, yet it would
appear that feline fanaticism no
longer discriminates against a
person’s sex or mental stability.

I’ve lived with cats before, but
it wasn’t until about a year ago
that I was able to add the title of
“Cat Owner” to my make-believe
business card. A fateful Craigslist
posting led me to a grungy
basement suite in North Vancouver
and I was introduced to a kitten
smaller than my fist. Two weeks
later, I was transporting said animal
across the city in a Build-A-Bear
box back to her new home. I settled
on the name Inspector Ciabatta
Lebowski and with that, my descent
14

into dementia began.

It started innocently enough.
Everyone who met Ciabatta cooed
over her cuteness and how feisty
the feline was, so I assumed my
fascination with her was normal.

I acquired her during midterms,
which was a fantastic idea, because

evening, he asked me if I always
did that. When I asked what he was
referring to, he pointed out that I
had called out goodbye to the cat.
Up until this point, it didn’t even
register that this was something I
did often. I became self-aware.
Everything’s a blur from that

“| acquired her during midterms, which was a fantastic idea, because
instead of applying myself to my studies, | was able to ignore the
textbooks on my desk and spend hours throwing toy mice around
the apartment while she chased after them.”

instead of applying myself to my
studies, I was able to ignore the
textbooks on my desk and spend
hours throwing toy mice around the
apartment while she chased after
them.

But then things took a turn for
the unusual. My roommate and
I began to express our feelings
out loud about how much we
enjoyed the cat. Showering her with
affection and attention when we
were alone was one thing, but once
we realized how strongly we both
felt, the floodgates to our emotions
opened.

Not long after that, a friend was
over and as we were leaving for the

point forward. I mentioned to my
roommate how ridiculous of a habit
it was for me to bid farewell to the
cat and we laughed over how weird
some cat owners were—especially
the ones who referred to their cats
as their “baby” or “child.” This
naturally led to a stage where we
briefly called Ciabatta our daughter,
but we quickly realized that our
satire was slinking towards to a
reality and immediately ceased
such behaviour.

The climax, and my ultimate
realization of where I’ve allowed
myself to go, occurred earlier this
month when we had a birthday
party for Ciabatta. I realized that

 

her birthday was coming up and
made a comment about how
hilarious it would be if we had

a kegger to celebrate her having
survived living with us for a year.
But this “joking” then led to me
making a Facebook event and
creating a guest list. Friends came
over with presents. Someone made
a cat food cake with catnip icing.
We all got sufficiently trashed and
freaked the cat out with the amount
of people that showed up, since
she wasn’t even aware that many
humans existed. I think I had more
fun at her birthday party than I’ve
had at some of my own.

Is it weird that when I’m on the
bus ride home, I get excited because
it means I'll soon be reunited with
my cat? More than likely. I prefer
Ciabatta’s company over that of
most humans, and if that’s not a red
flag, I don’t know what is. So let
my story be a warning to the rest of
you. When picking out your next
pet, get something less adorable
and with a shorter lifespan. Like sea
monkeys. No one’s ever heard of a
crazy sea monkey lady.