Note: The ET would love to bring you insightful viewpoints. Unfortunately, no one seems willing to write them for us. Instead, our news editor wrote us a column about her cat. For the sake of the newspaper, please form a passionate opinion, write about it in 450-700 words and send it to eteditor@etsu.edu. – Executive Editor Eileen RushMy cat rocks. After my last boyfriend and I broke up, I decided that I’d take a break from men and adopt a kitten.
I went to the Greene County Humane Society for a photojournalism project, and came home with a polydactyl cat, also known as a Hemingway cats.
Polydactyl means she has extra toes: seven on the front, five on the back. “Normal” cats have five on the front, and four on the back.
I named her Pantalaimon from “The Golden Compass.” I just call her Pan.
We’re heading to Knoxville this weekend. She hates her carrier, so the vet suggested I try Benadryl. I’ve tried popping a capsule open and using peanut butter (one of her favorite treats) to disguise the bitter taste, but that usually leads to Pan running around the house foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal.
She loves Knoxville. My parents’ house is a palace compared to my one-bedroom basement apartment. My parents’ house has windows that are close to the ground, so she can look outside. When she sees a bird she makes this weird clicking noise.
Another favorite activity in Knoxville is attacking her reflection in the brass kickplate on the back door. She will literally fight with herself for half an hour, running into the door and growling.
I swear, it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Here’s how our typical day goes:
In the morning, she plays with the heating blanket controls until I knock her off the bed. Then my alarm clock goes off and she jumps on top of me to prevent me from getting out of bed (her comfort comes before mine). We eventually get out of bed and eat breakfast together. Actually, I eat and she begs.
She cries when I leave for school and makes me feel like the world’s worse cat-mom.
What exactly she does when I’m in class is a mystery.
When I come home from school, she is sitting in front of the door, eager to greet me and pester me with her adorable meow. I interpret her meows as questions such as, “Why did you leave me for so long, don’t you love me anymore?”
Her favorite toy is the toilet paper holder.
She likes to randomly attack my laptop, she scratches the screen and walks across the keyboard, usually as I’m trying to type an instant message or write on someone’s Facebook wall.
She will take off running across the room, jumping from one chair to another and then land on my desk with a nice “thump.”
When I crinkle her treat bag she comes running from whichever room in the apartment she is destroying, jumps on my lap and stares at me with her sweet little eyes.
She’ll sit there until I finally give in and give her a few treats.
Every night we have the same routine.
She plays with her noisiest toys as I’m trying to relax and watch reruns of CSI. Then, when I head back to the bedroom to turn on the heat she races me there and then attempts to trip me.
When we finally get in bed she likes to sleep right in the middle so I have to accommodate her and move around the bed.
Ultimately, I have the perfect cat.
Pan is always happy to see me, lays in the bed with me when I’m tired, and doesn’t talk back.
She’s reliable, never late and a great listener.
She gives me kisses when I’m upset, and never complains about my cooking.
I don’t have to worry about her leaving me.
All in all, she is perfect.
No man could ever top my Pan.

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