I have always wanted a kitty because for some obscure reason I haven’t figured out yet, my parents forbid pets in the house when we were growing up. I can’t see myself as being a dog owner; and I’m sorry, but goldfish don’t count. Goldfish to me are Expendable Pets Extraordinaire.

Now I have two cats living with me for the next eleven and a half months, and I must say that having them around changes perspectives somewhat.

Oh, don’t get me wrong - I still like cats and I want to get my own kitten someday. But there are a couple things I didn’t prepare myself for: mainly, cleaning the catbox and playing with the cat on a regular basis.

Playing with the cat is much easier than getting rid of cat crap and cleaning up accidents. Playing with the cat, however, means losing my “dignified posture” and showering affection and love on this furry, purring machine who likes to stare at me as if to say, “You measly, rotten human! Don’t you know I’m the sole reason you exist!?”

I’m not the kind of person who talks much unless I’m directly addressed or I feel like I need to contribute something worthwhile to say. And maybe it’s just because I don’t talk to human babies in their own language ("Gurgle! Coo! Wail!") that I don’t think I can talk to cats all the time in meows and hisses. I’m learning how to be playful in my language when I’m around them, though. When one of my cats nudge me for a petting, I’ll happily oblige. And watching them show off is probably one of the most fun moments of being a cat caretaker.