On pets, but mostly on Molly, because I'm still a dork.

I am thinking about ownership of pets.

Dude and his family went to the MSPCA yesterday to find a cat. They got one, and I'm still trying to convince him to take pictures so I can see her. But anyways. Apparently she is his mother's cat. So what determines this? Love? Time spent together? Money spent on food?

Molly is most definitely my cat. She used to belong to my mom's cousin, but when she and her husband and kid moved to Denver, they had to leave Molly behind, for some reason. So Molly was given to a friend who would find a family for her, and she did, at first. Then the friend went to visit home in China for a few weeks. And the family who took Molly realized that one of the kids was allergic to cats. So my aunt (or I guess technically she's..some convolution of cousin, because she's not my mom's sibling, but aunt is easier to refer to) asked my parents if Molly could stay with us until her friend came back from China and found her a new home. Of course, when my mom told me this, I was fucking ecstatic. I am totally a cat person. I have always been a cat person. I mean..I'd never had a cat before Molly, but I knew that I was a cat person anyways.

I'd met Molly a few times, but she was a bit skittish, and whenever we'd visit my aunt, Molly would hide under the couch or in the basement. (She's still pretty nervous around large groups of strangers. A few people are fine, but once we had some family friends over for dinner - eight people in total - and the whole time, I couldn't find her. Couldn't even hear the bell on her collar. Turns out she was sitting in the front closet, on the overcrowded shoe shelf. Smart, resourceful kitty. Occasionally when we have guests, I find her sitting on the shelf above the washer and dryer in the laundry room. This feat continues to impress me.) My parents, my dad especially, were adamant that she remain in the sunroom, and not come into the rest of the house. I mean, it was fine, because it was warm and spacious, but I felt bad. I felt that it was unfair. And it was basically my fault; a few weeks ago an allergist had told me flat-out that I could either get a cat - I had asked if I could, because I really fucking wanted to - or nail my foot to the floor, that the discomfort would be at the same level. I thought this was rather amusing, and wanted to go get one anyways, but my parents took him seriously. (So you can see how my mom's favor to her cousin made me happy. I had been told that I could not have a cat, and suddenly here she was.)

Anyways, they didn't want Molly shedding all over the house, because of the fucking allergist. I mean, sure, whatever. But I'd go out into the sunroom all the time anyways, and though when she first arrived she had been nervous and wary of everyone, I sat in there long enough that after a couple of days, she was used to my presence, and let me pet her without backing away after a few seconds. Having been accepted, I had a new mission: Getting her into the house.

This was..pretty easy, actually. My dad had a business trip to Europe, two weeks long. He left about a week after Molly arrived. He'd been the hardass about keeping her in the sunroom; my mom also thought it was better, but after I started letting Molly in after I came home from school, and informed her rather unconvincingly that 'oops she got in after I went to feed her', she gave in. I had the two weeks my dad was away to prove that I could live comfortably with a cat.

Strangely, I don't have allergic reactions to Molly. I'm worse with rabbits, even with some dogs. Stupid allergist. He'd said that on the 0-4 scale of..allergicness?, I was 2 for dogs, 3 for rabbits, and 4 for cats. (Around most rabbits I can barely breathe. Kind of sucks because I love them. I used to have a couple, and developed the allergy at that time, along with an allergy to every one of the ten fucking pollens I was tested for, plus, unfortunately, a lot of raw fruits. I miss the crunch of apples; I have to bake them now or else the inside of my mouth feels like it's on fire or some shit. What the fuck.) But anyways. Fuck my allergies.

I kind of just started squeezing Molly into the house, and into the family. When my dad got back, I think he was kind of expecting what he found: the cat that was supposed to be temporary was entirely too comfortable in her new home. He was basically resigned to it, though he kept saying that she wasn't staying forever.

It's been a year and a half.

I..don't really know why I decided to talk about Molly so much tonight. I'm a dork.

OH RIGHT. Pet ownership. Lol.

Molly is mine, and she basically owns me. When I'm home, we're very often a unit. It took two and a half weeks plus very much goading from my parents to persuade me to move back up to my bedroom; up until then, I was sleeping downstairs on the couch, because I wanted to be with her and she's still not allowed in my room (also the couch is super comfy). Sometimes Molly gets lonely or attention-hungry in the middle of the night, while people are sleeping, and wails loudly until someone comes out or she gets bored. When I'm downstairs, she usually sleeps through the night, curled up next to me or on my legs. She knows I'm the one who takes care of her while I'm home, because when she wants something she bothers me until I figure out what it is and fill the need. Sometimes I find her waiting outside my bedroom door, or outside the bathroom while I'm taking a shower.

She probably likes me because I give her bits of meat whenever I'm making a sandwich, or sneak her pieces of chicken when she smells it during dinner. I'm such an easy target for her begging. But I love her, so..I'm justified.

So. Is a pet's owner determined by who loves her the most? Whoever she loves the most, regardless of whether this person is the one who fills her water bowl and buys her food? Or maybe the responsibility of taking care of her falls to her 'real' owner? If you get in a relationship with someone and you move in with her and she has a dog who comes to follow you everywhere, sleep on your side of the bed, run to you with a toy in his mouth..when you break up after a few months or a couple of years or a deteriorated marriage, is it fair that she takes the dog with her? She paid to have him neutered, after all; hell, she was the one who found him on the side of the road and took him in in the first place. But he will miss your daily jogs, your playful wrestling. It will hurt him. So whose dog is he? Who is his human?

Molly is my cat, even though I'm now only home four months a year. She knows it. She loves my mom and my brother and my dad, but she knows I'm hers. I miss her whenever I'm not home; fuck, I miss her whenever the door is closed and she can't get to where I am. I plan on taking her with me whenever I manage to get a place that allows cats.

Why do I love her so much?

Olivia