A visit to a cat cafe left Mariann B wondering: why don’t they love me back?
By Mariann B
Mariann B is a writer and Big Issue vendor in Melbourne
The other day I woke up with an intense longing for a cat. Since Alfie my rescue cat died, I desperately missed his comforting purr. I decided to adopt a cat, but in the meantime I needed a fix. Urgently.
I rang a cat cafe in the city and asked for a visit. They promised to squeeze me in for a half-hour session. The lovely lady working at the front shop was selling cat-shaped souvenirs. She ushered me into the inner sanctum to meet the moggies. They were all over the place – perching on top of scratching posts and peering out of cubby houses. Oh goodie, just let me at ’em!
I pride myself on my ability to read the mind of any cat. They might as well talk out loud. It’s easy: a combination of ESP and studying their body language. For instance, if a cat arches his back and hisses, it’s not a great time to negotiate with him.
I’ll give you an example right off the bat. Entering their room, I said hi to a fluffy ginger: “Would kitty cat like a cuddle?”
Kitty Cat: “Piss off!”
Never mind.
Other candidates were strolling by, but when I approached them they backed off. Every time. So tantalisingly close, yet just out of reach. They looked at me with dagger eyes. I get it. These guys really, really hated me. They wanted me dead!
Some of them wore miniature men’s ties, fashionably askew, while others sported bow ties at a rakish angle. A lumpen lot, but so cute with it. They didn’t like me any better and left claw marks on my soul. What am I, cat repellent? But hold on, let’s get a grip. These poor creatures, presumably sourced from rescue shelters, may have been starved, abused and who knows what else? Of course they’re not feeling friendly.
A big sign on the wall read DO NOT WAKE A SLEEPING CAT! A suspiciously large number of cats were dozing, some with one eye open. They obviously figured that, if they feigned sleep, those pesky visitors would not molest them.
Not one to give up, I cornered a cross-eyed Siamese and managed to pet him. I felt his body bristling under my palm – “Eeuww! You touched me!” My fantasy of frolicking with felines was rapidly fading. There is another F-word I want to use, but I doubt the editor would let me.
Okay, I thought, I’ll give it one last shot. Armed with a medicine cup of complimentary cat food, I offered it to an angelic-looking white specimen. He sniffed it delicately and gave me The Look – “You expect me to eat THAT?” – before stomping off.
Next, an aggressive tabby accosted me: “Bitch, you’re standing in my personal space!” I should’ve known; cats are very territorial. The cats decided they’d had enough and delegated a rough-looking tom with a chewed ear to march me off the premises. Rough Tom let out a low growl and pointed to the exit meaningfully. I complied so he wouldn’t rip my arm off.
When we reached the door, there was this large notice: DO NOT LET ANY OF THE CATS ESCAPE, NO MATTER WHAT THEY TELL YOU! The exit was blocked by the souvenir lady. “I see you met Sweetie! Isn’t he adorable? Would you like to adopt him?”
“No, I want to throw Sweetie under a bus!”
That was a lucky escape, I thought, as I stepped outside. Heaps of them and only one of me. But I had to admit a grudging respect for these cats. They have an in‑your-face attitude. Cats are emotionally honest. If you want instant affection, get a slobbery labrador.
Before I try to adopt another cat, I’ll hold a mass audition. After asking the auditionees to sit still (good luck with that), I’ll scrutinise their facial expressions closely (they should be fairly visible despite the fur).
The final test is how they behave when I stroke them. The purring cat will be the winner. If there isn’t one, I’ll just have to keep looking…
Published in ed#762
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