. . . Millions and billions and trillions of cats.

Have I ever mentioned that I love cats? At college, I’d kind of get a yearning to pet a cat every now and then. Alex called it withdrawl. And I’d have to take a trip home or visit a friend who owned a cat to get rid of the feeling.

(Photo taken after he finally came out of the closet.)

(Literally, not figuratively.)

I didn’t, obviously, name him because the name “Tiger” is way overused. He’s orange and white with the clearest dark orange eyes I’ve ever seen and the prettiest pink nose. Alex likes him because he’s manly-looking. He’s very playful, too, which means that he’ll be a lot of fun around here.

Frankly, we had to go to the basement and then take the elevator up, trying to keep him from being loud the whole time. When we asked about a cat (because it’s in our lease that we can have one), the manager said that they don’t allow pets here, so don’t let her see him. So we tried really hard to keep anyone from seeing him. Or hearing him.

He’s been really good — he only meowed twice in the hall, but it was kind of low and could have been a baby complaining. And he’s cried a few times in the apartment, but he’s generally a quiet cat. He’s just really really nervous. He’s been slinking around, low to the ground, staring at everything and trying to find places to hide. For now, we’re leaving him alone in the bedroom closet, where he seems to feel safe hiding behind my shirts.

I made a bed for him in a U-haul box with the robe my mom got for me last Christmas. It’s a nice robe, but I like my grey one better. The one mom gave me feels kind of weird, but in a way that a cat will love. And I don’t necessarily plan on telling mom what I’ve done until I have to (ie, until she’s about to come visit). Then she can fuss at me. She’s weird about clothes like that — really, I was just going to give it to another person, but I’d rather give it to my cat. Anything to help him have a happy, loving home.

All in all, he’s a great cat and we’re going to order in for dinner so we don’t have to grocery shop until the poor thing is more comfortable. Then, of course, we’re going to make him miserable again by taking him to the vet to get his claws out.

I feel so mean! But it’s so convenient to be mean . . .