Dolores is now comfortable enough with me to completely fall asleep in my stomach. Not just any “closed-eyes-but-startled-at-any-slight-sound” asleep but “completely-twisting-over-belly-up-loss-of-all-senses” passing out. I find it interesting that she still has the ability to purr the entire time she’s on my stomach, but has no reflexes at all. I can touch the pads of her back paws or poke her belly and there’ll be no reaction. I can put her favourite treat in front of her nose, and she won’t even look at it. My theory is that purring is a very subconscious activity that cats may not be able to control.

I had the pleasure of taking care of Nala while Trolley and Wheaties were home for the long weekend. She greeted me with loud protestations, angry that her caretaker had left her alone in the house for two days so far. Alas, it was only me who had arrived, a stranger she hadn’t gotten comfortable with yet. She followed me around at first, and watched as I filled up her food and water dishes. After a while she realized that I was the only one coming. “Where is my slave?”, she demanded, and ran off to sleep under the kitchen table.

I tried to talk to her, to let her know that her company would be back in two more days. I asked if she was alright, if she was bored or sleepy or energetic.

It felt…a little odd…to be so verbose with a cat. I consider myself to be a sane person. At the same time, I realize that cats cannot answer back. A strange little paradox.

I find myself in the same situation around children. When a kid asks me a question to which the answer is beyond his comprehension, I don’t know what to say. I become rather embarrassed that I’ve been placed in such a situation. Do I tell this child the truth, or do I give a saccharine answer? Do I attempt to shed some consciousness on a child’s life, or do I let him/her remain in a blissful childhood ignorance?

Any decision can be thought of in a bad way. I never know what to say, so I generally don’t answer back.

I still talk to Dolores though.

For there can be no judgement there.

If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have adopted Dolly.

I think Dolly may be interested in having another cat around the house. I’ve been playing some cat sounds, and no matter where she is in the apartment, she’ll coming running into my room. A second cat is something I only started to consider this term. Last term it felt as if I wouldn’t be able to handle the chores, let alone doubling my annual veterinarian bill. Sometimes she seems lonely though, like when she immediately starts to cry when I walk in the door after a day of school, her protesting only being soothed after picking her up, and being replaced by a low purr. I’ve always seen myself as a one cat person; I think I’d feel a little imbalanced if I had more than one. If I do decide to get one, it will definitely be after I graduate, definitely after I find a stable job, and possibly after I can purchase a condo. It would be more for Dolly than for me though. I can’t imagine finding another cat that is as well-adapted as she is, so the idea scares me a little.

One time I discussed with Pita whether he would ever consider getting two dogs. He said that he couldn’t, not just because it would be much harder to handle, but because he would feel more favourable to one or the other.

The idea of favour is one that I haven’t been able to understand. How can parents love all their kids without liking one more than the other, especially when one follows the desires of the parents more closely. It might be something I don’t understand, being an only child. If such a balance is possible, wouldn’t polygamous relationships work as well? I think part of the misunderstanding stems from my confusion of relational love and parental love as well.

For love is the root of my imbalance.

There’s something about the chemistry between Jon Favreau and Vince Vaughn that simply fascinates me, and although I’m sure the momentum of it spawned the painful movie Made, I still feel inclined to watch it over and over again.

My course load got easier this term, when I dropped a six hour per week course for a three hour one. Light schedules always seem to make my mind sloven, as if the load isn’t enough to put my mind in gear, so I grow restless in neutral. I wonder what I’m going to do when I’m out of school and looking for a job, something which will be happening within the half-year.

For some reason, Dolly takes an invariable fascination with the brushing of my teeth. Wherever she is, she’ll stalk up to my location and gaze intently at the act, hunched forward with the weight on her front paws. I can’t figure out what aspect of the brushing she may find interesting, and I wonder whether she’ll ever tire of watching.