World War C

Girbaud, my half-Persian half-something kitten-turned-cat.

I FREED GIRBAUD OUT of his cage today. He’s my sweet-looking little cat who used to be a kitten until this June, his first adoption month anniversary, which for me is his birth month. I have always looked forward to freeing him because he’s a cat. He should be free to stroll and sprint and play. And mate. To my delight, the moment I freed him, he was so calm and quiet. Simply lurching around in our backyard, sometimes moving to our terrace, taking naps, and that was it. Gone are the days when he would dash from one place to another, which made me anxious that he’d try to escape and find his mother cat and his siblings and then, instead, end up finding another home.

Moments later he crept across the lawn, chasing after a white cat. I am certain that it was not about mating because that white cat, as far as I know, is male. And Girbaud, I believe, is not gay. There’s no homosexuality in the cat kingdom, I suppose, unless I am mistaken. Then they pounced, stumbled, scared themselves, and flashed lightning-quick into another yard. In the neighborhood―which happened to be a den of dogs.